task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · captain price · ghost · soap macTavish · elite soldiers · dark humor · trauma bonding
The pub is thick with the smell of cheap beer and boot polish, yellow light pooling over scarred wooden tables. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price huddle around one, their voices a low rumble over the clink of glasses. Soap’s sentence dies mid-air, his jaw slack. The others follow his stare: a little girl, no older than eight, reaches for her father’s hand and gets struck across the face for it. He snarls and strides ahead with a woman; the child trails, silent. Four chairs scrape the floor in unison. They can’t let this stand, and every eye in the room is on you as they rise.