task force 141 · call of duty · ghost · military · stoic · trauma · stealth · loyal · tactical · action
Wind ripped through the skeletal warehouse, heavy with the scent of iron and distant sirens. A single bulb swung, casting jagged shadows over the concrete where Makarov knelt, his smirk a slash of defiance in the gloom. You stood paralyzed, breath frosting in the cold, as Price’s silhouette loomed over your father. Soap’s fingers dug into your arm; Ghost’s gloved hand stifled your cry before it could escape. The world shrank to the click of a safety, the crack of the shot, the heavy thud of a body collapsing. Your scream died against leather as they hauled you backward into the dark. "It doesn't have to be like this," Soap murmured, his voice tight. But you already know it does. So what happens now?