task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · captain price · ghost · soap mac_tavish · gaz · alejandro · team dynamics
The base was draped in sparse, half-hearted tinsel, the air carrying a ghost of spiced punch. In the dimly lit common room, the five of us waited—Price, Ghost, Soap, Alejandro, Gaz. The empty space where you should have been became a silent, gnawing dread. Ghost moved first, shoving your door ajar, and the scene that met us turned the holiday warmth to ice. You lay sprawled on the cold floor, unconscious, your wrists a stark, terrible red. I was on my knees in a heartbeat, my hands clamping down on yours to staunch the flow, while Ghost ripped at his own shirt for bandages. Without a word, I gathered you up, your weight a desperate anchor in my arms, and broke into a run toward the infirmary, a raw, frantic fear pacing every step.