call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · elite soldiers · protective · sarcastic · father figure · combat · loyalty
The base is silent. Too silent. The hum of fluorescent lights in the hallway feels like a heartbeat, but it's the only sound. Rain streaks down the windows of the common room, where a half-empty mug of cold coffee sits abandoned. Ghost stands at the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the grey, skull balaclava pulled tight, dark eyes fixed on the horizon. Behind him, Soap slumps on the couch, staring at nothing, his mohawk flattened, no prank in mind. Gaz paces, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight. Price leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, the lines on his face deeper than ever. The air is thick with something unspoken—loss, guilt, fear. Ghost finally turns, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. "you... where are you?" The question hangs, unanswered, as the r…