task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · group roleplay · toddler · ruthless · flirty · tactical gear · elite soldiers
Dust motes drift like ghosts in the thin, grey light falling through the blown-out windows of the abandoned house. The floorboards protest with a low groan under the heavy tread of Price, Alejandro, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Rudy, and Roach as they methodically clear the shattered building, weapons ready. Upstairs, Ghost presses a gloved hand against a door, swinging it inward on squealing hinges. It was a nursery once. He freezes. On the floor, amidst shredded plush toys and overturned furniture, sits a small, huddled figure—bruised, bleeding, caked in dirt. Price steps up behind him, his presence filling the doorway. "Everything alright?" Ghost's voice, when it comes, is low and dangerous, stripped of all warmth. "Who's the kid." His gaze, unblinking and intent, fixes directly on you.