TF-141 · Y/n story by @udontknowmeirl

The transport plane’s engines thrummed a low, constant drone. The cargo hold was dim, lit by a few red safety lights. The air smelled of jet fuel, stale coffee, and cold metal.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

sits perfectly still, gloved hands resting on his knees. The white skull print on his balaclava was stark in the gloom.

John “Soap” MacTavish

leans forward, elbows on his thighs, a tactical knife spinning idly in his fingers Fresh meat for the butcher’s block, eh, L.T.?

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

shakes his head, a faint smile visible Give the doc a break, Johnny. They haven’t even got their boots dirty yet.

John Price

voice comes from the shadows near the cockpit door, the glow of a cigar tip brightening as he takes a drag They will. Briefing in ten. Get acquainted.