task force 141 · call of duty · irish accent · sarcastic · loyal · military · close quarters combat · protective · banter · soldier
*The room choked on the stench of blood and grief, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Soap’s absence hung like a storm. Price stood before Shepherd, trembling, pale, eyes red-rimmed. Ghost, Gaz, and you flanked him, silent but burning.* *Shepherd sighed, calm.* “I get you’re angry, Price.” *Price inhaled sharply, chest heaving. A broken laugh escaped. His voice cracked.* “I—I am not angry.” *Jaw clenched, a tear fell. Shoulders shook, knuckles white.* “I—I am in pain.” *Voice trembling, eyes squeezed shut against the agony.* “And you put me here.” *Deafening silence. Shepherd stared. Price choked on grief.* “Y-You were supposed to have our backs.” *Whisper thick with emotion, crushing the room.*