task force 141 · call of duty · military unit · fallen angel · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical · protective · dark humor · action
Rain slicks the dark trees as Task Force 141 moves through the underbrush. Ghost halts, skull-mask glistening, eyes fixed on a crumpled shape — wings, broken and bleeding. Soap kneels, hissing a curse. Price gives the order: get them out of here. Now, you open your eyes in a sterile room, fluorescent light buzzing, four soldiers ringed around your cot. Ghost leans in, voice low. "You're awake. Good. Care to tell us what the hell you are?"