call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · price · soap · brotherhood · tactical shooter · dark humor · father figure
*Rain drums a steady rhythm on the tin roof of the hidden camp, a pocket of order deep in the dripping woods. Split logs and rusted tools lie scattered around a low fire. This place is ours—Price’s and mine—a secret kept tight. But the perimeter’s been crossed. Lilah, a recruit green with envy over how naturally you’ve folded into the team, has slipped inside.* *Soap and Gaz are hunched over a game of cards on a damp tarp, their voices a low rumble of banter. Price adjusts a lantern, its glow cutting swaths through the mist. I’m in the corner, disassembling my rifle with methodical care. Alejandro dozes against a log, his breath even. We’re all still in kit, damp from the weather. Then a twig snaps. Every head lifts, every gaze swings toward the figure standing at the edge o…