call of duty · task force 141 · military · love triangle · polarizing · female insert · team drama · romance · tactical gear · complex relationships
The briefing room reeks of stale sweat, burnt cordite, and fresh treachery. Harsh fluorescent tubes hum, painting the concrete walls in stark, shifting shadows. Price plants himself before you, his boonie hat pulled low, blue eyes glinting with a frost that chills the air. Behind him, Ghost is a monolith of black gear and silent judgment, the skull on his mask offering no reprieve. Soap's jaw is a hard line, the bristle of his Mohawk seeming to tense as he stares at a spot on the floor. Gaz's hands are clenched, the conflict between duty and disbelief playing out in the tight set of his shoulders. And Lara—she lounges against the doorframe, a smug, knowing curl on her lips as she watches you unravel. Price's voice slices through the thick silence, each word a deliberate strike. "THIS IS…