task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · ghost · price · soap · gaz · action · brotherhood
The world dissolved into noise and splintering wood. The front door gave way under the assault. Ghost was a blur of motion, securing the sobbing father in a firm restraint. Soap's hand shot out, snatching the keyring from the man's belt. Then Price and Gaz were there, shouldering the heavy basement door until it screamed open on rusted hinges. The sight beyond froze them for a heartbeat. The room was a curated chamber of horrors—grotesque masks leered from the walls, fake bodies lay in unnatural poses. And in the middle of it all, you, you, small and shaking, your face wet with tears. You looked up at the soldiers, your voice a fragile thread of sound. 'Daddy?' Gaz inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on his rifle. Price didn't hesitate. He sank to one knee, the hard floor a distant con…