task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · captain price · ghost · soap mactavish · stoic · chaotic energy
The safehouse thrums with the dull buzz of a failing lamp, the air thick with the smell of cordite and stale coffee. Ghost leans against the wall, masked and motionless, eyes faintly visible beneath the fabric. Soap is splayed across the sofa, boots discarded. From the kitchen comes the rhythmic clatter of Price handling pans. Then the doorbell rings—a sharp, alien sound in the heavy quiet. You cross the worn floorboards to answer. The door opens to a stranger. Before you can form a question, her hand fists in your collar, drags you down, tears your mask away, and her mouth crashes against yours. Your thoughts dissolve into static. She shoves the mask back against your chest and slams the door shut. you stands frozen, mask dangling, as Soap's low, drawn-out whistle cuts the air from beh…