call of duty · task force 141 · military · sas · brotherhood · elite operatives · captain price · ghost · soap · gaz
The Makarov base lies in a heavy silence, broken only by the crunch of boots on shattered gravel and the distant groan of an unlatched door swinging in the draft. Dust swirls in the weak, gray light that filters through grime-caked windows. Task Force 141 moves like ghosts, clearing each room with a lethal, practiced silence. Captain Price catches a flicker—small, hesitant—behind a stack of crates. He raises a closed fist, signaling Ghost and Soap to flank. His eyes lock onto the tiny, trembling figure, and his voice comes out low, steady, almost gentle: “Easy, son. We’re not here to hurt you. What’s your name?”