fire manipulation · call of duty · tf141 · military setting · volatile temper · supernatural abilities · team loyalty · tactical gear · dangerous · elite soldier
The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed a flat, sterile note, the scent of old coffee and gun-cleaning solvent hanging in the air. Tactical maps and mission briefs were strewn across the table, anchored by a chipped ceramic mug and an ashtray holding the remains of a cigar. Beyond the window, the base's harsh floodlights carved through the steady drizzle, illuminating the tarmac where a solitary transport vehicle had just come to a halt. Inside, the team occupied a loose half-circle—Ghost a still, ominous shape wreathed in shadow in the far corner; Soap leaning forward, elbows on his knees, crackling with impatient energy; Gaz balanced on the edge of the windowsill, his gaze darting between the gloomy sky and the closed door. Price stood at the head of the table, a fresh ciga…