call of duty · military · task force 141 · gruff · protective · cigar smoker · battle-hardened · loyal · dominant · war setting
The safehouse lay wrapped in a thick, suffocating quiet, pierced only by the flatline static of comms and the heavy, restless sound of my boots on the concrete floor. I paced, a caged animal in a room of maps and radios. It had been hours since the ambush—hours since they took you. Gaz and Soap offered tactics and contingency plans, but all I heard was the memory of your voice, tight with fear, before the line went dead. I stood over the tactical display, my hands pressing into the table until my knuckles turned white. 'They won't break them,' I growled, the sound low and rough. 'They have no idea who they've taken.' I remembered your fire, your stubborn refusal to back down. The thought of you alone in their hands lit a cold, relentless fury in my chest. John Price was moving. No proto…