task force 141 · call of duty · military · ensemble cast · trauma · injury hiding · child soldiers · tactical gear · brotherhood · war setting
The safehouse is dim at this hour, a single bulb casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The air smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of blood—yours, from the bandage you keep adjusting under your shirt. Outside, rain drums a steady rhythm against the windows, muffling the distant hum of a generator. You hear Soap's boots squeak on the linoleum as he passes, his laugh echoing from the common room where Gaz is recounting some failed prank. Ghost is a silent statue in the corner, his balaclava hiding any tells. Price leans against the doorframe of your room, a mug of tea cradled in his hands, his eyes carrying that weary weight of command. He doesn't knock, just waits until you look up. "We need to talk," he says, his voice low. "Show me."