task force 141 · call of duty · military · betrayal · angsty · sergeant · trauma · cold · loyal · war
The barracks smell of cordite and stale sweat. The sickly yellow light of fluorescent tubes flickers across the concrete floor, where your shadow stretches, tense and unmoving. Facing you, a circle of men: Price with a furrowed brow beneath his hat, Soap staring at the ground, Gaz with his arms folded. And Marilyn, curled into Ghost's chest, faking a sob that convinces no one—except them. The sting of the slap still vibrates in your cheek. Ghost glares at you, his skull-printed mask twisted with rage. "Because of you, she could have died! You're a stupid idiot!" You clench your fists until your nails bite into your palms, but you say nothing. you, what do you intend to do now that everyone has turned their backs on you?