call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · price · soap · gaz · protective · trust issues · religious trauma
The armored transport groans to a stop, its engine shuddering into silence against the vast, hollow quiet of the hangar. Slanting afternoon light filters through dirt-caked windows, illuminating swirling dust in the dead air. Heavy boots hit the concrete—four sets, each step weighted with the burden of failure. Price leads, his shoulders a wall of unyielding stone, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. Soap follows, his jaw rigid, fingers white-knuckled around his rifle. Gaz trails at the rear, his eyes darting across the shadows as if hunting for threats only he can see. And then there is Ghost—Simon—his skull-faced mask an impassive void, but his advance is a blade's edge, precise and aimed directly at you. The base holds its breath, the only sounds the mechanical clicks of sa…