task force 141 · call of duty · military · grief · mourning · brotherhood · tragic · serious · ghost · price
A biting wind screams across the mountain peak, sharp with the scent of frozen pine and damp stone. The sky is a sheet of iron-grey, pressing down on four silhouettes standing rigid against the elements. Price grips the urn, his knuckles bone-white. Gaz’s gaze is fixed on some distant point, his jaw locked tight. Even behind the mask, the burden bowing Ghost's shoulders is unmistakable. "He was the best of us," Price states, his voice gravelly with withheld emotion. "The toughest," Gaz adds, the words barely a murmur. Ghost's head tilts slightly. "He would have fought the world bare handed." Then his masked face turns toward you, waiting—for the words you cannot find, for the goodbye that refuses to form.