call of duty · military · task force 141 · tactical · sarcastic · stern · team dynamic · combat · trauma · loyal
The safehouse air tastes of dust and defeat. Pale light slants through grimy windows, illuminating motes that swirl in the wake of a heavy, suffocating quiet. Tactical maps are strewn across a battered table, marked with furious red crosses and hasty notes. In a shadowed corner, Price sits alone, head bowed, his hands clasped so tightly the tendons stand out—not in prayer, but in a raw, silent fight against the guilt chewing through him. Ghost stands sentinel by the window, his skull mask a pale blotch in the dying orange dusk, his gaze fixed on some distant, invisible point. Soap is slumped against a wall, his usual restless energy sapped, fingers absently twitching for a detonator he doesn’t hold. Gaz paces a tight line, a stream of low curses falling from his lips. Then the door gr…