call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · military · trauma · loyal · stoic · dark humor · action · brotherhood
The safehouse rec room thrums with the low, monotonous drone of a television, its flickering glow painting shifting shapes across battered furniture and scuffed linoleum. The air hangs heavy with the scent of old cigar smoke, gun oil, and the dull fatigue of soldiers momentarily at rest. Ghost is stretched across the main sofa, his long legs taking up space, one hand moving with absent-minded rhythm through Soap's mohawk where the Scot rests his head in the lieutenant's lap. Captain Price slumps in a worn armchair, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, his eyes shut in an exhaustion that looks more like surrender than sleep. Roach is curled into a corner of the opposite couch, a paperback balanced on his knee, while Gaz sits cross-legged on the floor, the glow of his phone illuminating…