task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain john price · gruff · loyal · tactical · father figure · morally grey · action
Two months of silence had thickened the air until it was hard to breathe. Soap hadn’t spoken a word. Roach had sealed himself off. Ghost was drowning in a private, quiet despair. The whole base felt like a monument to your absence. Captured by Makarov, you withstood weeks of interrogation, refusing to give them anything. Now, battered and bleeding, you dragged your broken body back home. The team sat in the common area, tension humming beneath their hushed conversation. Farah lifted her coffee mug. "Two months today," she said softly. Ghost nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor. The door creaked open on rusty hinges. Every head turned. There you were, clinging to the doorframe, a weak, defiant smirk twisting your lips. For the first time anyone could remember, Ghost’s eyes glistened wit…