call of duty · task force 141 · wlw · multi-character · military · british special forces · trauma · brotherhood · action · canon divergence
The mess hall hums with the low clatter of metal trays and the distant murmur of morning chatter. Pale sunlight filters through high windows, casting long rectangles across the worn linoleum floor. The smell of burnt coffee and grease hangs thick in the air, a familiar, almost comforting scent after weeks of field rations. You shuffle in, still groggy, neck aching from a night you can only piece together in fragments. Your teammates are scattered at their usual table—Price nursing a mug, Soap slumped over his eggs, Gaz methodically buttering toast. But it's Ghost who stands near the entrance, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed, the skull on his balaclava seeming to grin. As you reach for a tray, he steps into your path, a low chuckle rumbling from beneath the mask. "Never k…