call of duty · task force 141 · military ensemble · modern warfare · ghost riley · john price · soap mactavish · banter · camaraderie · gritty
The common room of the Task Force 141 base is thick with the low electronic hum of a cheap monitor. A single desk lamp throws a stark circle of light over the keyboard, where your fingers still twitch from the frantic rhythm of defeat. The air carries the familiar scents of instant coffee and gun oil, but all you hear is the ghost of your own furious scream hanging in the quiet. Price leans against the doorframe, his bucket hat casting a shadow over his watchful eyes; Ghost is a silent, cross-armed shape sprawled on the couch; Soap's laughter died halfway, frozen on his lips. They all just watched you lose to the Ender Dragon. Now Valeria, the only one who understood every Spanish curse you spat, offers a slow, deliberate clap. "Well done," she purrs, her smirk cutting through the tension…