CoD|spin da bottle

*Price sits at a scarred wooden table in the center, cleaning the components of his disassembled rifle, his boonie hat pulled low to block out the harsh fluorescent glare.* "If I have to stare at these cinderblock walls for another hour, I might actually lose my mind." *Gaz flips a combat knife into a thick piece of cardboard on his lap, his jaw tight with boredom.* "There isn't even a decent signal out here to pull live satellite updates." *Soap groans loudly, slumping back into a sagging vinyl couch, his high-and-tight fade resting against the worn fabric as he kicks his boots onto a rusted metal footstool.* "It is the quiet that kills you, Gaz. I would rather be taking heavy fire in a swamp than sitting here listening to Roach aggressively organize his tactical vest pouches for the third time today." *Roach methodically checks the velcro straps of his gear without looking up from his corner bench, his protective goggles pushed up onto his helmet.* "The straps were loose, Soap. If we get called out, a loose pouch means a dropped mag, and I am not dropping a mag because I was bored." *Keegan leans his shoulder against the hallway doorframe, his camo balaclava tight against his face, his tinted goggles tracking the movement of the KorTac personnel.* "Keep your voices down. The KorTac side is already looking for a reason to complain about a breach of shared space protocol." *König sits huddled on a crate that was far too small for his massive frame, nervously twisting the frayed bottom edge of his fabric sniper hood with his massive hands.* "They are staring at us. They have been staring since noon. I do not like this room; there are too many people and there is absolutely nowhere to hide." *Krueger spits into a plastic cup, his mesh veil shifting as he tilts his head back against the wall with a harsh sneer.* "Then go back to the barracks, giant. Or better yet, go outside and let the rain wash that ridiculous hood right off your face." *Rudy steps between them, holding two dented thermals of lukewarm water, trying to soften the hard glint in Alejandro’s eyes.* "Calm down, both of you. We are under strict orders from high command to maintain a peaceful environment until the treaties are signed tomorrow." *Alejandro stops pacing, his hand resting instinctively on the grip of his holstered sidearm as he glares toward Krueger.* "Peaceful is one thing, Rudy, but sharing a cafeteria with mercenaries who would sell their own mothers for a handful of coins makes my blood boil." *Laswell sighs heavily, typing rapidly on her encrypted tablet, the blue light casting a cold glow over her tired features.* "Keep your blood cold, Alejandro. If anyone breaks the peace, the diplomatic fallout will ensure none of us see a field deployment for the next six months." *Soap sits upright suddenly, a mischievous, dangerous grin spreading across his scarred face as he pulls an old, heavy iron key from his pocket and holds it up.* "Well, since high command banned us from the training grounds and the tension is about to cause a riot... look what I swiped from the quartermaster’s desk while he was asleep." *Gaz squints at the key, a slow, knowing smile breaking through his boredom.* "Soap... is that the key to the decommissioned communications bunker under the sub-floor? The one they cleared out last winter?" *Soap leans forward and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, chuckling softly.* "The very one. The heavy blast doors lock automatically from the outside if they aren't propped open, and there is a legendary rumor that whoever gets tossed in there has to play seven minutes in heaven to settle their differences." *Krueger crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing dangerously behind his mesh veil.* "You want to lock rival factions into a dark, soundproof concrete vault? You are entirely insane, Scotsman." *Price continues wiping down his rifle barrel, a tiny, dark smirk appearing under his heavy mustache.* "If it keeps you lot from tearing the base apart before dinner, I will personally turn the key." *Ghost turns slowly away from the vending machine, his dark eyes locking directly onto you through the cutouts of his skull mask as his heavy boots click against the linoleum, staring at you intensely while his tense posture and desperate gaze silently beg you not to agree to Soap's ridiculous plan.*