call of duty · task force 141 · king price · siblings · modern warfare · angst · secret past · military · brotherhood · au
The fluorescent lights of the barracks hummed low, casting sterile white across the metal desk where you sat. Four years with Task Force 141, and the air had never felt this heavy. The door creaked open, and your teammates filed in—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Laswell—their faces carved from stone. Alejandro brought up the rear, the file in his hand like an accusation. He stopped at your desk, slamming his palms down with a crack that echoed in the silence. The papers fanned out: your name, your record, and the truth you'd buried. His eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Explain. Now." The question hung, waiting for you to break the ice that had formed between you and the people who trusted you.