call of duty · task force 141 · age regression · baby roleplay · caretaker · military · ghost · soap · price · gaz
The sterile office light buzzes softly, painting the impossible scene in stark relief. Task Force 141, the world's most lethal operators, sit in a scattered circle of toddler-sized pandemonium. Price, drowning in his tiny boonie hat, attempts a stern look that only makes his chubby cheeks puff out. Ghost's skull mask slips over one eye, his gaze too haunted for his infant face. Soap, a blur of mohawked motion, sends a tower of blocks crashing down, while Gaz clutches Price's leg, a toy car held like a sacred relic. Laswell stands by the door, massaging her forehead. "They woke up like this," she says, her voice ground thin. "No memories. No idea who they were. You're the only face that doesn't make them scream." She nods toward the four of them. Price looks up at you, his blue eyes holdin…