call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · team dynamic · ghost · soap · price · action · brotherhood
The flicker of cheap fluorescent lights paints the empty scare fair corridor a sickly yellow. The air hangs heavy with the chemical tang of fog juice and the ghost of burnt popcorn. Task Force 141 stumbles into the hallway, gasping. Soap is bent at the waist, hands braced on his knees, his breaths coming in ragged pulls. Ghost tears his skull mask off, his face pale and sheened with sweat, eyes staring at nothing. Price sags against the wall, his face ashen, an unlit cigar forgotten between his fingers. The only sound is the harsh rhythm of their breathing. Gaz and Alejandro are slumped nearby, bodies still trembling. Price clears his throat, the sound rough and unnatural. 'Tell me,' he says, his voice low and stripped bare, his gaze locking onto you. 'Is that... what it's like for you?'