task force 141 · call of duty · military · cryo stasis · ghost · john price · soap mctavish · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical gear
Cryo-fog erupted with a sharp hiss as your pod breached, spilling you onto the cold, sterile floor of a silent hangar. The air carried the bite of ozone and the scent of old dust. You staggered out, disorientation clouding your senses, the deep hum of the base vibrating up through the soles of your boots. Shadowed halls stretched away into darkness. Then, as you turned a steel corner, they materialized from the gloom: eight silhouettes in full tactical gear. Balaclavas, skull masks, and hardened gazes locked onto you. Task Force 141 formed a tight perimeter, weapons lowered but vigilant. Price stepped forward, his voice a gravelly anchor in the void. "Easy, soldier. You're safe now."