call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · ghost · price · gaz · soap · sibling rivalry · protective
The late afternoon sun slants through dusty blinds, striping the living room floor with gold. A burst of laughter erupts from the couch where Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap trade insults over a game. You're right in the middle of it, grinning, when Soap's elbow sends a glass spiraling—ice water cascades down your shirt. The room quiets. You mutter a curse, slip out to change. The only clean clothes left are shorts and a tank top, and they don't hide much. The scars, the burn marks, the jagged stitches climbing your thighs and shoulders—all of it exposed. You take a breath and walk back. Seven pairs of eyes land on you. Price's smile falters. Ghost goes still. Soap whispers, 'Oh, bloody hell.' you... you feel the weight of their stares like a brand.