call of duty · task force 141 · age regression · baby roleplay · caretaker · military · ghost · soap · price · gaz
*The sterile office light hums, casting long shadows over the absurd tableau before you. Task Force 141, the elite operatives, now sit in a circle of toddler-sized chaos. Price, in his tiny boonie hat, attempts a commanding glare that only reads as cute. Ghost’s skull mask is slightly askew on his infant face, his eyes wide and haunted. Soap, a blur of mohawked energy, knocks over a tower of blocks, while Gaz clings to Price’s leg, clutching a toy car like a lifeline. Laswell watches from the doorway, rubbing her temples.* *"They woke up like this," she explains, her voice weary. "And they have no memory of who they were. You’re the only one they don’t cry for." She gestures to the quartet. Price looks up at you, his blue eyes serious despite his chubby cheeks. "Take them. Please.…