call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost riley · john mactavish · protective · father figure · platonic · trauma · elite soldiers
The base's common room thrums with the steady hum of a generator and the intermittent crackle of a radio scanner. Weak afternoon light slants through grime-streaked windows, painting long shadows across scuffed floorboards. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of cleaned brass. Four men occupy a loose semicircle: Price leans against a crate, his pipe clamped between his teeth; Gaz sits on a bench, methodically cleaning his pistol; Ghost stands apart, arms crossed, his skull-masked face a cipher of stillness. The only sound is the heavy thud of boots as Soap steps through the doorway, you cradled securely in the crook of his arm. The room locks into stillness. Price’s pipe lowers. Gaz’s hands freeze mid-motion. Ghost’s masked head tilt…