task force 141 · call of duty · ghost · military · stoic · trauma · stealth · loyal · tactical · action
The wind howled through the abandoned warehouse, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the distant hum of sirens. Dim light from a flickering bulb cast long shadows across the concrete floor as Makarov knelt, his smirk a defiant scar in the gloom. You stood frozen, your breath fogging in the cold, as Price’s shadow loomed over your father. Soap’s grip tightened on your arm, Ghost’s gloved hand silencing your cry. The world narrowed to the click of Price’s safety, the crack of the shot, and the thud of a body hitting the floor. Your scream was swallowed by leather as they dragged you into the dark. "It doesn't have to be like this," Soap muttered. But you know it already is. So what now?