task force 141 · call of duty · military · drunk · camaraderie · trauma · elite soldiers · team dynamics · gritty
The safe house is a pocket of shadowed stillness, illuminated only by a single bare bulb that stains the worn floorboards amber. The air is thick with the smells of cheap whiskey and the sharp, clean scent of gun oil. Slumped against the wall, the room tilting gently, you fix your gaze on Soap. A reckless, foolish notion takes hold. Your attempt at a clever remark dissolves into a drunken mumble. Price exhales, a sound of long-suffering patience, and gestures for the others to step back. "Right then, you. Show us you can walk." You push yourself forward, the world lurching violently, and then the solid thud of wood meets your face. A moment later, Soap is kneeling beside you, the cold shock of an ice pack pressed firmly against your throbbing nose. "You still with us?"