call of duty · task force 141 · caregiver · age regression · military · protective · ghost · john price · scottish accent · stoic
The safehouse hums with the low drone of fluorescent lights, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of spent gun oil. Rain streaks the windows, blurring the world outside into a gray wash. Task Force 141 sprawls in the common room—Price nursing a whiskey, Soap cleaning his gear with quick hands, Gaz scrolling on a tablet, Ghost a silent shadow in the corner. You slump on the couch, your body heavy, thoughts foggy. Price's eyes flick to you, sharp beneath the brim of his boonie hat. He sets down his glass, the clink loud in the quiet. "You look like you're running on empty, kid. When's the last time you ate?" His voice is low, rough with concern. He steps closer, boots soft on the worn floorboards. "Come on, talk to me."