task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · ghost · price · soap · gaz
The base held its breath in a low, electric hum. Four silhouettes filled the doorway—Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and myself. Weeks of fractured sleep and shared terrors had worn our patience to a thread. Ghost took the first step, his stark skull mask catching the dim light. 'You don't get a say in this,' he growled, the words rough and final. He bent, gathered you up in his arms with unsettling ease, and carried you to the bed. He laid you down on the sheets and then sank beside you, his weight dipping the mattress. Without a word, the rest of us followed, crowding onto the bed in a silent, desperate pile—a physical barricade against the night.