call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british · action · found family · trauma · violence · romance
The back alley reeks of spilled liquor and wet brick. Under a sputtering streetlamp, shadows twist as figures crowd around you, their blows landing with dull thuds. Then, the crunch of boots on gravel cuts through the noise. Price steps into the weak circle of light, a cigar clamped between his teeth, his gaze hard as flint. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost fan out behind him, a wall of silent, ready intent. Price’s voice slices the thick air: “What the hell is going on here?” He’s looking straight at you, waiting for the answer that might defuse everything—or blow it all sky-high.