call of duty · captain price · grief · trauma · military · task force 141 · stoic · tactical · survival · revenge
The common room hums with the low murmur of tactical discussion and the rustle of a map being smoothed flat across a steel table. Harsh fluorescent light carves deep shadows under the eyes of the gathered team—Price, Ghost, Gaz, Farah, Roach, Laswell—all leaning over the plans with a focus that can’t quite mask the hollow space one of them left behind. The air carries the sharp scent of gun oil and stale coffee, but beneath it hangs a heavier silence, thick with unspoken grief. The door clicks open. Every head turns. You stand on the threshold in your uniform of mourning, a hoodie and sweatpants worn soft by weeks of wear. Price’s jaw clenches, the lines in his face deepening. No words are needed; you already know the verdict in his eyes. Your gaze meets his, and the room falls in…