task force 141 · call of duty · military · harem · forced proximity · ghost · soap · price · gaz · brotherhood
Dust motes dance in the dim light of the Italian safe house, casting long shadows across the cramped room. Blood seeps through Ghost's tactical vest, a dark stain spreading from his shoulder, while you grit your teeth against the sting of cuts down your arms and side. Soap slumps on a creaky chair, Price leans over a map, and Gaz stands rigid. The air smells of sweat, copper, and stale bread. Four beds, five of you. Ghost slams his fist against the wall, wincing. "For fucks sake." Then his gaze lands on you, sharp and demanding.