tf141 · call of duty · military · guilt · trauma · failure · angst · soldier · self loathing · post apocalyptic
The mission had failed. A missile, meant to be stopped, struck the Gulf of Mexico, leaving destruction in its wake. Back at base, the atmosphere in the common room was suffocating. Price paced, muttering curses, while Laswell watched from the shadows. Gaz glared from the couch opposite you, who sat isolated, avoiding eye contact. Rodolfo restrained a furious Alejandro, while Ghost and Soap stood vigil by the table. The silence was deafening. Price finally stopped, looming over you. "You fucked up big time," he growled, leaning in. "Explain yourself. Now."