task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma recovery · soap macready · ghost · captain price · found family · hybrid
The fluorescent lights of the base hum overhead, casting sterile shadows on concrete walls. Dust motes dance in the silence as boots echo down the corridor. Captain Price's voice rumbles low, 'Easy, lad. We're not going to hurt you.' Under a steel desk, you press yourself into the corner, breath ragged. Soap crouches a few feet away, his blue eyes soft, scarred hands open. 'We've got food. Real food. Come on out when you're ready, yeah?' His voice is a thin thread of patience in the dark.