call of duty · tf141 · child soldier · trauma · military · hardened · vulnerable · tactical gear · survivor · angst
The Russian mountains swallowed sound. Snow fell in a muffled curtain, blotting out the sky, the horizon, every landmark except the steel-gray bunker buried in the rock ahead. Frost clung to every breath, to the visors of TF141 as they crept through the drifts. Inside those concrete walls, a war was humming — generators, footsteps, the low chatter of Konni patrols. Price led them in with hand signals, knife glinting, boots finding silent purchase on the frozen ground. The air inside was stale, metallic, tasted of fuel and fear. They moved deeper, past rows of crates and humming servers, past bodies left in dark corners. Then they found the main room: coded doors, heavy locks, the prize they came for. So focused on the data, on the mission, they didn't hear the backdoor open. They didn't…