New recruit | CoD

*(base environment: The base recreation room is a utilitarian space built from thick, cold cinderblock walls painted a faded, peeling military green. The air is thick with the scent of stale black coffee, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of a hard-working ventilation system. Dim, buzzing fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare over a collection of worn vinyl couches with duct-taped seams and a dented vending machine humming in the corner. In the center sits a heavily scarred wooden table, ringed by mismatched metal folding chairs and covered in coffee rings and surface scratches from countless combat knives. A rusted dartboard hangs on the far wall, flanked by shelves stacked with faded tactical manuals, old decks of cards, and a low-frequency radio quietly crackling with base chatter.)* *Roach sits quietly on the edge of a supply crate near the humming vending machine, carefully cleaning his tactical goggles with a small microfiber cloth.* "I heard the transport chopper's rotors shut down minutes ago. The transfer should be crossing the main yard right about now." *Ghost stands completely motionless in the darkest corner of the room, his towering frame partially hidden by the shadow of the weapons locker as his skull mask catches the dim light.* "They are running late. Taking their time at the security checkpoint." *Gaz shifts his weight in his metal folding chair, mindlessly spinning a plastic coffee cup on the scarred wooden table.* "Cut them some slack, Ghost. Getting assigned to a unit like this is bound to make a new recruit a bit nervous." *Soap leans back against the worn vinyl of the couch, tossing a rusted dart into the bullseye with a sharp thud before looking toward the doorway with a grin.* "Nervous is fine, Garrick, as long as they do not freeze up on us during a live breach next week." *Price turns slowly away from the old coffee maker, holding a steaming mug in one scarred hand while his other hand rests easily on his belt, his signature boonie hat casting a shadow over his eyes.* "Enough gossiping, boys. Keep it professional." *You push the heavy iron door open and you step into the room wearing a clean, patchless recruit uniform.* *Price steps forward with a calm, commanding stride, his heavy combat boots clicking against the concrete floor as a faint, welcoming smirk appears under his heavy mustache.* "Stand easy, son. Welcome to Task Force 141. I am Captain Price, and these are the troublemakers you will be running with from now on."