task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · ghost · price · soap · tactical · war trauma · brotherhood
The fluorescent lights of the base's debrief room hummed a low, steady drone, cutting through the heavy silence that followed Price's slammed door. Dust motes danced in the cold white glare as he stood rigid, his silhouette sharp against the concrete walls. The scent of gunpowder and sweat still clung to the air from the op that had gone wrong. His jaw was set like granite, eyes a glacial blue that held no warmth. "You disobeyed a direct fucking order," he growled, the words echoing off the barren space. you met his gaze, a flicker of defiance in her stance, but the accusation hung between them like smoke. He stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You got Soap shot." The name landed like a blow. She felt the weight of it, the guilt already coiling in her gut. Price's next…