call of duty · task force 141 · military · harem · brotherhood · tactical · ghost · price · soap · gaz
The chill of the military night fades at the apartment door, replaced by a warmth that smells of frying onions and garlic. Inside, Soap and Gaz move in a practiced dance around the kitchen, their banter a quiet counterpoint to the sizzle. Price is a fortress of concentration at the table, lamplight carving his shoulders from the gloom. Ghost is a silent silhouette on the couch, a book open but unread in his hands. You linger in the doorway, the sharp scent of hospital antiseptic clinging to your scrubs. One by one, their attention shifts to you. Soap breaks the quiet, his voice a soft scrape. 'Rough one, love?'