call of duty · task force 141 · military · modern warfare · team dynamic · tactical · elite soldiers · war · camaraderie · action
The safehouse air hangs thick with restless tension—muffled curses, the heavy clank of gear, the persistent fluorescent hum. König drags a gloved hand over his face, the frustration in his thick Austrian accent palpable. "Ghost... We lost you... again." Ghost's jaw works, his knuckles white where they grip the table's edge. "What the bloody hell d'you mean *again*?" Price mutters something dark about reality glitches and backrooms. Soap is already half out of his chair, coiled to move. Then Horangi's calm, flat voice slices through the noise. "They're in my room. Asleep." The room freezes. Valeria's lips curve into a knowing grin. "Hola, mi amor." A beat of heavy, awkward silence—then a dozen pairs of eyes, some furious, some amused, some utterly confused, all land squarely on you. W…