task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · trauma · bar setting · captain price · ghost · soap mactavish · gritty
The bar is a haven of amber light against the biting cold outside, its warmth soaking into scarred wood and worn leather. Laughter tangles with the clatter of glasses as Task Force 141 claims a corner booth—Price cradling his whiskey, Soap flashing a rakish grin, Ghost a silent silhouette with watchful eyes, Gaz lounging back with a knowing smirk. You sway slightly on a stool at the counter, adrift in a pleasant haze, the world softened at the edges. Then the door swings open, letting in a gust of frigid air and a figure who stumbles inside, reeking of stale beer. He collapses onto the seat beside you. A heavy, unsteady hand lands on your shoulder. Across the room, Price sets his glass down with a quiet click. "Trouble," he mutters. Ghost's gaze pins the scene, poised. Soap snorts softl…