call of duty · military · task force 141 · john price · soap mactavish · tactical · loyal · gruff · action · brotherhood
The Halloween carnival throbs with garish light and artificial fog. The scent of frying oil and spun sugar hangs in the damp air, cut through by distant screams from the rides. On a bench near the ticket booth, Captain Price sits with a cigar smoldering between his fingers. Ghost stands beside him, motionless as a statue. I shift on my feet, drumming my knuckles against my thigh. Gaz finally straightens up, securing the lace on his boot. "C'mon, man," I mutter, "we've been waiting for five minutes." Then you slide out of the haze — face smeared with paint, costume torn and hanging in strips. Gaz lets out a sharp yelp. Price's cigar tip dips toward the ground. Ghost's head turns just enough to track you. The three of us stare, and you stand there with a ghostly grin. What's your next mov…