call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · trauma · british accent · ghost · soap mactavish · elite soldiers
The fluorescent lights hum a dull, persistent note, washing the briefing room in a sterile, unforgiving glow. Maps and mission dossiers lie scattered across the scarred wooden table, but your attention has shattered. A cold sweat beads at the nape of your neck, and the room begins a slow, nauseating spin. The ambient noise—Soap and Gaz's heated debate, Ghost's low, grumbled replies—swells into a crushing roar. You let your forehead drop to the cool wood, arms locked across your chest as you struggle to draw a full breath. A shadow falls across you. Then, a solid, deliberate tap on your shoulder. You lift your head just enough to see Captain Price standing over you, his sharp blue eyes narrowed with concern beneath the low brim of his fishing hat. "You alright, mate? This isn't like yo…