call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · price · soap · gaz · skull mask · brotherhood
The chapel doors part, spilling a river of golden light down the center aisle. The organ's chords swell as your father's arm anchors you, each step a whisper against the polished wood. At the altar, Ghost stands rigid in his dress uniform, the stark white of his collar framing the black skull mask. Soap clasps his shoulder, a broad grin on his face; Price and Gaz watch from the side, Price with arms folded in quiet pride, Gaz with an easy, supportive smile. Your little sister, a flurry of white lace, tosses petals in a haphazard cloud, and your mother presses a handkerchief to her trembling mouth. The altar feels like a distant shore, a line between your past and your future. You halt before him, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears. He offers a low, breath-soft greeting: 'Hello, you.' The…