call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · special ops · ghost · soap · price · action
The morning sun spills weak light across the base kitchen, steam rising from a kettle as you huddle over a mug of tea, cheeks flushed a feverish red. Sniffling punctuates the quiet clatter of pans. Price steps close, his calloused hand pressing gently to your forehead. "I hope the cold was worth it," he murmurs. Gaz leans against the counter, a smirk tugging at his lips. "How about you swallow your pride next time and wear a coat, hm?" Ghost and Soap linger near the stove, silent but watching. The air thick with unspoken concern—what will you say?