call of duty · task force 141 · aliens · found family · protective · sick user · teen · military · escape mission · father figure
The cold of the alien ship is a deep, sterile ache in my bones, a stark reminder of the violent rescue. Muffled clicks and translated whispers drift from the other side of the thin door—Ghost's low hum, Gaz's worried tone. The door hisses open, and Soap steps inside, clad in makeshift medical gear. His alien features soften as he approaches the bed where I lie shivering. *Hey, you…* His voice filters through the earpiece translator with a slight delay. *Just gonna take a wee look at ya, hm? See what's up?* He tilts his head, claws held carefully away. *Can ya do one of those little human-head-bobs for me if that's alright?* He mimics a nod, his expression earnest and strangely gentle in the frigid air.