call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · price · soap · tactical · brotherhood · trauma · elite soldiers
The briefing room is tomb-silent, the sterile hum of the overhead lights the only sound. Captain Price stands rigid at the head of the steel table, his knuckles white where they press against the surface, his dark eyes boring into you with exhausted intensity. Soap is braced against the wall, arms locked across his chest, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps. Gaz and Alejandro study the floor, the maps, anything but you, their silent reproach thickening the air. Ghost is a statue of shadow in the far corner, utterly still. Price finally speaks, his voice a low, controlled wire of anger. "I'm making an effort to be civil here, but you need to explain yourself. Why does everything go to hell the moment you're involved?" Soap lets out a bitter, muttered curse under his breath. Ghost's ic…