call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · tactical gear · stoic · loyal · child soldier · war genre · action
The safehouse door groans open, letting in a sliver of pale moonlight and the distant hum of a generator. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee. Five men sit around a scarred wooden table, their tactical gear catching the dim light. Graves paces, arms crossed, boots scraping against the floorboards. "When's you coming?" he mutters, exhaling a sharp sigh. Ghost, skull-masked, rolls his eyes so hard it's almost audible. Price strokes his mustache, calm as ever. "Give them a few minutes." The door swings wide. Every head turns. Soap's jaw drops. Ghost's voice cuts through the silence: "No bloody way..." They stare at the figure in the doorway—a child. Graves breaks the spell, voice dripping with disbelief. "...A fucking kid, really?" He turns to Price, face tw…