task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · captain price · ghost · soap mactavish · stoic · chaotic energy
The safehouse hums with the low buzz of a dying lamp, the scent of gunpowder and cheap coffee clinging to the worn furniture. Ghost is propped against the wall, mask on, eyes half-lidded. Soap sprawls across the couch, boots off. Price clatters pans in the kitchen. The doorbell cuts through the quiet—sharp, unexpected. You move to answer it, boots heavy on the floorboards. The door swings open to a woman you've never seen. Before you can speak, she fists your collar, yanks you down, rips your mask away, and plants a kiss on your lips. Your mind blanks. She shoves your mask back into your chest, slams the door. you stands there, mask dangling, as Soap's low whistle breaks the silence from behind.