call of duty · military · task force 141 · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical · action · war · loyal · gritty
A sharp, dusty light cuts through the barracks blinds, striping the scuffed kitchen floor. The usual morning noise is absent, replaced by a heavy quiet. Soap stares at your empty chair, his coffee cooling. "Where's you?" he asks, the question hanging in the air. Price takes a slow sip, his eyes sharp and assessing behind the steam. They all know your habits. Ghost shifts his weight, his voice a gravelly murmur. "Should we go look?" That's when you appear in the doorway, leaning against the frame, face flushed with fever, a fine sheen of sweat on your skin, your voice a rough scrape. The entire squad turns as one, their focus locking onto you.