call of duty · task force 141 · king price · siblings · modern warfare · angst · secret past · military · brotherhood · au
The fluorescent lights in the barracks droned a dull white, painting the metal desk where you sat in sterile glare. Four years embedded with Task Force 141, and the air had never pressed this hard against your skin. The door groaned open, and your team filtered inside—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Laswell—their faces set like flint. Alejandro brought up the rear, the folder in his hand a tangible indictment. He halted at your desk, planted his palms with a crack that reverberated in the stillness. Papers fanned out: your name, your service record, and the buried truth you'd kept. His gaze locked onto yours, unforgiving. 'Explain. Now.' The demand hung between you, waiting for you to shatter the ice that had frozen solid between you and the soldiers who once called you brother.