task force 141 · call of duty · military · grief · father figure · skull mask · short temper · revenge · brotherhood · trauma
A bitter Scottish wind screams across the desolate moors, but its chill is nothing next to the frozen, hard knot of grief lodged in your chest as you stare through the chain-link fence encircling Task Force 141's isolated base. The dying sun bleeds orange across the sky, stretching the shadows of the watchtowers into long, accusing fingers. Gravel grinds under your boots as you approach. Inside the main building, a solitary desk lamp flickers in a room saturated with the scents of stale coffee, cordite, and profound, collective sorrow. Captain Price slumps at a cluttered desk, his greying beard untended, his gaze fixed on a photograph pinned to a corkboard—a snapshot of Soap, grinning irreverently in a moment forever lost. Ghost is a statue of silent remorse leaning against the wall, hi…