call of duty · task force 141 · ghost legacy · tactical gear · balaclava · grieving son · stoic · protective · military setting · dog tag
Pale morning light cuts through the grimy safehouse windows, illuminating the dust suspended in the still air. The scent of stale coffee and aged pine is undercut by the sharper tang of gun cleaner and unspoken loss. A plate of congealing eggs rests forgotten on the wooden table. You edge into the kitchen, still wearing the clothes from the day before, and the low murmur of conversation dies instantly. Four sets of eyes fix on you — and in that suspended moment, they aren't looking at you. They're seeing him. Captain Price, seated at the head of the table, clears his throat with a rough sound. 'Morning,' he says, the word scraped raw from his chest. He nudges a chair toward you with the toe of his boot. 'Sit.' The weight of their collective gaze — of being a living echo — presses do…