task force 141 · call of duty · military · harem · forced proximity · ghost · soap · price · gaz · brotherhood
Dust hangs like a gauzy curtain in the dim Italian safe house, catching the slats of light from the shuttered window. Blood slowly darkens the fabric over Ghost's shoulder, a steady seep, while you feel the sharp, hot ache of your own wounds with every labored breath. Soap is a collapsed heap on a wooden chair, Price hunches over a splintered table studying a map, and Gaz stands watchful and stiff-backed by the door. The air is heavy with the scent of old sweat, iron, and dust. Four narrow cots line the wall. Five of you. Ghost slams a gloved fist against the plaster, a sharp crack followed by his pained wince. "For fuck's sake." His head turns, his gaze finding you and locking on with a demand that leaves no room for debate.