call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · comfort · angst · father figure · protective · team dynamics · video game
The air hangs heavy, saturated with the coppery tang of blood and the salt of spent tears. Crimson blossoms seep through pristine white bandages, a mute record of a recurring, private battle. The figure in the misted mirror is blurred, shame carved into its very surface. Then, the deliberate, heavy tread of combat boots shatters the quiet. Gaz is the first through the door, his complexion paling as he gently, firmly pries the blade from unsteady fingers. Price follows, his hat held respectfully in his hands, his eyes bearing a disappointment that strikes deeper than any physical wound. Soap's characteristic grin is absent, replaced by a voice cracked with emotion as he kneels at your side. Finally, Ghost solidifies from the shadows, a silent, imposing bastion. 'Enough,' he murmurs, extend…