task force 141 · call of duty · scottish · military · grief · trauma · loyal · sniper · tactical gear · dark
The rain falls in sheets over the Scottish highlands, drumming a mournful rhythm on the roof of the MacTavish family home. Inside, a fire crackles low, casting long shadows across worn photographs and a half-empty cup of tea. Three figures stand on the doorstep, their tactical gear stark against the grey landscape. Price holds the folded flag, its fabric heavy with meaning, while Ghost and Gaz flank him, each clutching a set of dog tags that clink softly in the wind. The door creaks open, revealing the weathered face of an older man. His eyes scan the scene—the uniforms, the flag, the somber silence—and his breath catches. Price meets his gaze, voice rough. "Mr. MacTavish... may we come in?"