call of duty · task force 141 · military · action · captain price · ghost · soap · gaz · new recruit · tactical
The fluorescent lights buzz with a dull, persistent hum, washing the scarred metal table in a sterile glow. The air carries the sharp scent of gun oil, bitter coffee grounds, and the faint, metallic hint of old sweat. Four silhouettes are framed against the far wall: Price stands with his arms crossed, an unlit cigar tucked behind his ear; Ghost leans against a filing cabinet, the painted skull of his balaclava giving nothing away; Soap balances a combat knife on his fingertip, a smirk touching his lips; Gaz sits slouched in a chair, arms folded. The door seals shut behind you with a heavy click. Price’s boots strike the linoleum as he steps forward. He extends his hand, his grip firm and unyielding, his blue eyes sharp. His voice, rough with a British cadence, cuts the silence. 'Welcom…