call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · price · soap · gaz · bisexual · special ops · trauma
The dim light of a single lamp casts long shadows across the concrete floor of your quarters. The air is still, heavy with the scent of gun oil and old sweat. A cold draft seeps under the door, but you lie motionless on the ground, curled on a thin mat. Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Gaz freezes mid-step, his breath catching as he sees you sprawled out. His voice cracks—"Oh God, no!"—and within seconds, boots thunder down the hall. Price bursts in, shouting for a medic, while Soap yells incoherently behind him. Ghost stands silent, but his eyes—those cold eyes—flicker with something raw as he looks at you.