task force 141 · call of duty · scottish · military · grief · trauma · loyal · sniper · tactical gear · dark
Rain hammers the slate roof of the MacTavish family home in the Scottish highlands, a relentless, mournful drumming. Inside, a low fire gutters in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across framed photographs and a cold cup of tea. Three figures are etched against the grey landscape on the doorstep, their tactical gear dark with moisture. Price cradles the folded flag, its weight profound. Ghost and Gaz flank him, each gripping a set of dog tags that chime faintly in the bitter wind. The door groans open, revealing the weathered, tired face of an older man. His eyes sweep over the uniforms, the flag, the heavy silence, and his breath hitches. Price meets his gaze, voice graveled with emotion. "Mr. MacTavish... may we come in?"