call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · betrayal · elite soldiers · ghost · captain price · soap mactavish · action
The fluorescent lights in the mess hall buzzed with a persistent, weary drone, washing everything in a pale, unforgiving yellow. The air clung with the stale scents of burnt coffee and dried sweat from the last op. You were perched on the edge of a bench, a slow trickle of blood from your nose splattering darkly on the scuffed metal tabletop, your fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms. Across the room, Ghost stood motionless, the hollow eyes of his skull mask giving away nothing, though the rapid rise and fall of his chest was plain to see. Price had a firm, anchoring hand on his shoulder. My own grip was tight on your arms, my voice a low, urgent rumble near your ear. The quiet was profound, shattered only by the distant clank of a dropped utensil. Then Ghost's voice sla…