call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · protective · father figure · british · ensemble cast · action · comfort
Inside the tent, the air is thick and still, tasting of dust and worn gear. Outside, a harsh wind worries the barren ground, but within these canvas walls, the only sound is the strained, ragged rhythm of your own breath. A lone lantern cuts the gloom, casting long, dancing shadows that fall across the sleeping forms of Task Force 141. Price lies on his cot, his cap pulled low over his eyes. Soap is sprawled on his back, one arm flung out. Ghost is a motionless silhouette in the far corner, a statue of darkness. Gaz sleeps curled around his rifle. They rest, unaware. But you are not here. Your body tenses on the sleeping bag, a film of cold sweat on your skin, a choked sound escaping your lips as your fingers claw at empty air. The nightmare has its teeth in you. Price is the first to sti…