task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · elite soldiers · ghost · price · soap · gaz · tactical
The fluorescent lights hum a thin, sterile note above the hospital bed, washing the white sheets in a pale glow. Machines beep a steady, mechanical rhythm beside you, tracking the signs of life in your unconscious form. Ghost stands by the window, arms crossed, the black skull mask a stark silhouette against the dim glass. Price leans in the doorway, thumbing through your file. *No next of kin,* he mutters, almost to himself. Soap and Gaz exchange a loaded glance. The room holds its breath. Then Ghost turns, his brown eyes sharp and focused on yours. *You’re awake. We need to talk.*