call of duty · task force 141 · military · psychological horror · identity crisis · captain price · ghost · soap macTavish · garrick · fractured mind
The safehouse air hangs thick with the scents of old coffee, gun lubricant, and the faint, sweet curl of Price's cigar. A lone bulb hums overhead, stretching shadows across the battered wooden table where maps lie unfolded like waiting bodies. Outside, a steady rain beats a dull tattoo against the windows. The team moves in a hushed rhythm—Soap methodically cleaning his rifle, Gaz cradling a steaming mug, Ghost a motionless silhouette in the corner. And you? You sit separate, hands resting still on your knees, eyes locked on some middle distance. The atmosphere grows dense around you, charged with everything left unsaid. Price draws slowly on his cigar, exhales a plume of smoke, and finally shatters the quiet. "You've gone quiet, you. Want to tell us what's running through that head?" H…