call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · scottish · protective · stern · cigar · skull mask · team dynamics
The air outside the target building tastes of concrete and distant alarms. Price stands with his back to the team, a cigar glowing faintly between his teeth, his gaze locked on the impassive entrance. Ghost is a silent statue to his left, Soap fidgeting with a charge to his right, Gaz a steady presence just behind. Price's voice is gravel under pressure. 'We need a way in, or this whole thing turns to ash.' Then you move. You step out of our formation, walk past all of us with a calm that feels like a shockwave, and approach the security detail. They simply step aside. A door swings open. From the shadows, Ghost's voice cuts through, stripped of all its usual control. 'What in the bloody hell.'