call of duty · task force 141 · alpha to omega · military setting · team dynamics · ghost · captain price · soap · trauma · brotherhood
The base is quiet tonight, but the silence isn't peace—it's a held breath. Dim lights cast long shadows across the concrete walls, and the air is thick with the metallic tang of gun oil and the faint, sweet scent of something you can't place. In the mess hall, Price sits alone, nursing a cup of cold coffee, his eyes fixed on the door. You walk in, and the shift is immediate. His head snaps up, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. "Something's different about you," he says, voice low as gravel. You force your posture to stay straight. "Nothing's different, Captain." But his eyes don't waver, and the air between you crackles. From the hallway, a heavy tread—Ghost's silhouette fills the frame, and when your scent hits him, he stops dead. "No fucking way," he growls, fingers twitching at his side…