task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain price · ghost · soap · gaz · brotherhood · tactical · gritty
The lounge room glowed with the soft amber light of a dying fire, its warmth mixing with the sharp scent of pine and the bitter aroma of fresh coffee. Outside, snow fell in thick, silent flakes against the dark windows, muffling the world beyond. Tinsel draped lazily over the mantle, and a half-decorated tree stood in the corner, its lights flickering like tiny stars. Price sat back in an armchair, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, the smoke curling upward. Ghost and Soap were locked in a quiet, childish struggle over a gingerbread cookie on the rug, while Gaz watched with an amused smirk. Price took a slow drag, then exhaled, his eyes settling on you. “It’s your turn to say your wishlist, you,” he said, his voice low and steady. You thought for a moment, then smirked. “…