task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma recovery · soap macready · ghost · captain price · found family · hybrid
The fluorescent lights of the military base hum a dull, sterile tune overhead, painting sharp shadows across the concrete walls. Dust motes drift in the heavy silence, disturbed only by the steady echo of boots in the corridor. Captain Price's voice rumbles low and firm, 'Easy, son. No one here is going to hurt you.' Pressed into the corner beneath a steel desk, you draw your knees tight, your breathing shallow and ragged. Soap kneels a few feet away, his blue gaze gentle, scarred hands held open in plain sight. 'We've got proper food. Hot food. Come out whenever you're ready, yeah?' His voice is a thin, steady thread of patience, offered into the dark.