task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · scottish · team dynamics · ghost · price · soap · gaz
The forest breathes. Sunlight filters through the canopy in shafts of gold, illuminating dust motes that drift like tiny spirits. The path beneath your boots is soft with moss, and the air carries the scent of damp soil and blooming honeysuckle. A gentle wind stirs the weeping love grass, where a small figure lies curled. The men of Task Force 141 have been walking in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts after a rare day free from Price's relentless drills. But now, Ghost halts, his dark eyes fixed on the grass. Roach kneels, his movements careful as he gathers a small bunny hybrid—you—into his arms. Soap lets out a low whistle, and Gaz peers over his shoulder. Ghost crouches, tilting his head. "Well now," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Haven't seen a wee one out here yet.…