call of duty · military · task force 141 · captain price · ghost · gaz · grief · trauma · action · war
The room is dark, the only light a pale wash from a streetlamp slicing through the blinds. Dust drifts in the thin beams as you stir awake, sheets twisted around your legs. Your phone vibrates insistently on the nightstand, its screen glowing with a list of missed calls—every one from Price. A cold, hard knot forms in your chest. You hit call back. The line connects with a crackle of static. He picks up, but for a long moment, there's only a heavy, suffocating silence. Then his voice breaks through, raw and hollowed out. 'you... Soap is dead.' The floor seems to drop away. You clutch the phone, your knuckles white, waiting for words that refuse to form.