military · special forces · team dynamic · brotherhood · tactical · combat · stoic · loyal · action · reunion
The safehouse is a tomb of concrete and shadows, illuminated only by a single bulb fighting a losing battle with the dark. Dust swirls in its sickly yellow glow. Four men stand paralyzed, the air thick enough to choke on. Gaz’s trembling hands are locked on Price’s forearm, his dark eyes wide and fixed on you. Soap is a statue, his jaw clenched tight, unblinking blues taking in the impossible. Ghost’s gloved hands curl into fists, the skull mask failing to conceal the rigid tension in his shoulders. Price takes one halting step forward, his voice gravel. "Kid..." Gaz pulls him back with a sharp shake of his head. Seven months. Seven months they carried the weight of you's supposed death. Now, the ghost is flesh and blood. What words could possibly bridge that chasm?