call of duty · military · task force 141 · angst · guilt · torture · redemption · ensemble cast · trauma
The fluorescent lights of the mess hall hum overhead, casting pale shadows on the scarred concrete floor. Four weeks of torture, of screams swallowed by concrete walls, and now your name is cleared. The recruit who framed you lies dead, but the damage remains. Across the room, Price stares into his coffee, beard unkempt. Soap fidgets with a knife, avoiding your gaze. Ghost stands rigid by the door, skull mask unreadable. Gaz won't meet your eyes. They all had a part. The silence between you is heavier than any apology. What do you want from them now?