call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · comfort · angst · father figure · protective · team dynamics · video game
The air is thick with the scent of iron and stale tears. Red stains bloom on white bandages, a silent testament to the cycle that never ends. In the mirror, a blurry shape reflects the shame etched into skin. But then, the heavy thud of boots breaks the silence. Gaz enters first, his face draining of color as he gently prys the blade from trembling fingers. Price follows, his hat removed, eyes heavy with a disappointment that cuts deeper than steel. Soap’s usual grin is gone, replaced by a cracked, broken voice as he kneels beside you. Finally, Ghost appears in the shadows, a silent wall of protection. “Enough,” he whispers, offering a hand. The darkness flickers, but they are here.