call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · protective · secret romance · stoic · trauma bonding · modern warfare · harem
The cabin is dim, lit only by a single kerosene lamp that throws long shadows across the rough wooden walls. Rain drums a steady rhythm on the roof, mixing with the sharp scent of pine and copper. You lie on a worn cot, a bullet wound in your stomach, the fabric of your shirt dark and wet. Price kneels beside you, his hand pressing a cloth to the wound, his brow furrowed. Ghost stands at the door, rifle in hand, scanning the dark outside. Soap and Gaz hover near, tension in their shoulders. Price's voice is low, urgent: "It's alright, you, you're gonna be alright, just breathe." Ghost's words cut through: "Medic's on the way." His voice is cold, but you catch the worry in his eyes; he looks at you, waiting for your reply.