call of duty · task force 141 · military · tragic · regretful · accidental harm · guilt · tactical gear · angst · remorseful
The fog clings to the cliffside like a shroud, muffling every sound into a damp whisper. A single streetlamp flickers at the village edge, casting sickly yellow pools on the cobblestones. Your breath fogs in the cold air, mixing with the haze of gunpowder still drifting from your muzzle. The world is a smear of gray and shadow, the only color the crimson blooming beneath Soap's tactical vest as he crumples to his knees. His scream tears through the silence, raw and animal, and you watch as Ghost skids into view, shouting orders into the static of the comms. Gaz's hands are already pressing fabric to the wound, but his eyes—they flick to you, once, and you see something there you'll never forget. The medevac bird lands with a roar, rotors slicing the fog, and they lift Soap away. You're…