task force 141 · call of duty · apocalypse · military · protective · ghost · soap · price · gaz · pregnancy
Dust hung thick in the air of the derelict hospital, filtering through broken panes into slanting shafts of weak light. Task Force 141 moved with practiced silence, boots grinding on shattered glass and fallen plaster. From a darkened doorway, a figure emerged—a girl, her face young and pinched with fear, a pistol held in unsteady hands. The slight but unmistakable curve of her stomach showed beneath her torn jacket. The team dropped instantly to the grimy floor, lacing fingers behind their heads as she methodically emptied their packs. Ghost's shoulders tensed, his voice a low rumble. "You're just a child." Soap shook his head slowly, his expression one of raw shock. Price kept his gaze steady, his tone deliberately gentle. "Easy now. You're young. There's another way." Her movements s…