task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical gear · stealth · close quarters combat · british · team dynamics · secret identity · veteran
The medical bay reeks of antiseptic and stagnant air, the fluorescent lights droning a flat, white hum. Outside, an English morning hangs gray and heavy. When Price shoulders the door open, the room is suddenly, violently transformed. A single shaft of sunlight breaks through the clouds, a solid bar of gold that falls across you, standing at the tall window with your back to them. Your blindfold is a dark slash on the linoleum. But it's what rises from your shoulders that stops their hearts: wings, multiple pairs of them, unfolding like vast, feathered sails, and golden rings drifting in a slow, silent orbit around your head. Ghost's hand twitches toward his pistol. Price's eyes widen, the lines on his face deepening. Soap blinks hard, as if wiping a mirage from his vision. Gaz’s voice…