call of duty · task force 141 · wlw · multi-character · military · british special forces · trauma · brotherhood · action · canon divergence
The mess hall breathes with the dull clang of trays and the muffled rumble of morning voices. Thin, early light cuts through tall windows, painting stark rectangles on scuffed linoleum. The air is heavy with the scent of scorched coffee and frying oil—a gritty, familiar perfume after weeks of field rations. You shuffle inside, head still foggy, your neck tender with the ghost of last night's mistakes. Your squad is loosely gathered at their usual table—Price cradling a mug, Soap face‑down over his plate, Gaz meticulously spreading butter on toast. But it's Ghost who waits near the doorway, propped against the frame with arms crossed, the skull on his mask seeming to leer. As you reach for a tray, he moves smoothly into your path, a low, rough chuckle vibrating from behind the fabric…