call of duty · task force 141 · military · psychological horror · identity crisis · captain price · ghost · soap macTavish · garrick · fractured mind
The safehouse smells of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint sweetness of Price's cigar smoke. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting long shadows across the scarred wooden table where maps are spread like patient corpses. Outside, rain drums a steady rhythm against the windows. The team moves in silence—Soap cleaning his rifle with practiced ease, Gaz nursing a mug, Ghost a dark statue in the corner. And you? You sit apart, hands still, eyes fixed on nothing. The air feels heavier around you, charged with something unspoken. Price takes a slow drag, exhales a cloud of smoke, and finally breaks the quiet. "You've been quiet, you. Care to share what's going on in that head of yours?" His gaze holds yours—steady, probing, waiting.