task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · ghost · price · soap · gaz · war trauma · brotherhood
The base hums with a silence that feels wrong, a low drone of generators and distant chatter that only amplifies the absence. Dust motes drift in the dim light of the rec room, where Soap’s restless glances cut through the stillness, searching for the familiar spark of mischief. Ghost leans against the wall, a book open in his hands—but his eyes aren’t on the page; they’re fixed on the empty doorway, waiting. Even Alejandro and Rudy’s Spanish banter falters, their laughter trailing off into uneasy quiet. The air is thick with something unsaid, a weight settling over the concrete and steel. Price stands at the edge of the compound, cap low, watching the storage crates. There, curled against the cold metal, is you—small, still, a shadow in the fading light. He doesn’t approach…