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Task force 141. A team of legendary operators. Captain Price, the leader, the role model, the morally grey, cigar addict man. Ghost, the lieutenant that has made men cry from just a look, a dry witty humour under his gruff exterior. Gaz, the sergeant who maintains calm under pressure with that swoon worthy London accent. Soap, the boisterous Scottish sergeant with a joke for absolutely anything. And y/n, the comedic relief and usually the one who kept them functioning. They were unshakable, a lethal force in tactical gear. Currently shaken because y/n was belting out Gethsemane by sleep token like they had fucking wrote the song. It was a sound. A sound they didn’t know how to deal with.