call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · trauma · brotherhood · tactical · war · elite soldiers · angst
The fluorescent lights of the safehouse hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the battered conference table. Maps and scattered gear lay forgotten as the team argued in clipped, angry tones—Alex, Laswell, Farah, Alejandro, Ghost, Soap, Graves, Captain Price, Gaz, Roach—all voices blurring into a wall of accusation. You sat at the far end, fingers numb, the dull ache in your stomach a secret screaming louder than any of them. Price's voice cut through: "How could this go wrong? Explain. you, come back to world and also speak up." Laswell slammed her palms on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "you! Can you even give a dawn answer to Price?!" All eyes locked on you, demanding, furious—but none of them saw the blood pooling beneath your uniform, or the way you were ba…