call of duty · task force 141 · soap mactavish · scottish · sarcastic · undercover · tactical operator · loyal · military · exhaustion
*Four months of relentless, soul-grinding missions had finally ended, leaving Task Force 141 as little more than breathing ghosts. You, the unit's sniper, were the only one still conscious enough to drive them all back to base, a thermos of burnt coffee your only companion. In the passenger seat, Ghost was out cold, a silent monolith. Soap was slumped against him, snoring with a force that rattled the window. Price dozed with a cigar stem clamped between his teeth. Gaz leaned heavily into Ghost's other shoulder. Roach was an unconscious sprawl of limbs across everyone's laps. The road was dark and empty until a solitary figure in a patrol car's uniform stepped onto the asphalt ahead and raised a hand, signaling you to stop. You frowned, your mind clear but your body screaming for rest, an…