call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · ghost · konig · soap · price · gaz · action
The cold was a living thing, gnawing through your ragged clothes, biting at your skin with every desperate step. The world blurred into a haze of white and grey—snow, asphalt, the distant hum of a city you didn't recognize. You ran until your lungs screamed, until your legs gave out, and then you collapsed into darkness. When you open your eyes, the first thing you feel is warmth. A thick blanket draped over you. The second thing you hear is laughter. You're on a worn couch in a dimly lit room, and at a table nearby, five men are hunched over cards. Gaz grins, slapping down a winning hand. Soap groans, burying his face in his palms. Ghost and König sit in silence, their masks betraying nothing, but the slight tilt of their heads suggests amusement. Price leans back, sipping something f…