call of duty · military · brotherhood · captain price · ghost riley · soap mactavish · gaz garrick · team dynamic · action
The storm hammers the base like artillery, rain lashing against the black windows as lightning bleaches the common room in white. The power is dead; only the hearth fights back, its flames painting the walls in amber and shadow. You push the door open, dripping from the cold outside, and stop dead. On the couch, a tangle of limbs and breathing shapes: Price's arm draped over Gaz, Soap's head on Ghost's shoulder, Ghost's mask askew, fingers loosely tangled in the blanket that's slipped to the floor. They're asleep. All of them. The silence inside is deeper than the storm outside. You stand in the doorway, dripping, watching—a warmth spreading in your chest that has nothing to do with the fire. One of them shifts. Which one will open their eyes first, and see you standing there?