call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · soap · price · gaz · action · brotherhood · war
The forest was a vault of shadow and stillness, the only sounds the crush of boots on fallen leaves and the distant, rhythmic drip of water from moss-heavy branches. Massive trunks rose like ancient columns, their woven canopy blotting out the moon, allowing only thin blades of silver light to pool on the damp ground. Task Force 141 moved as a single entity, a disciplined phantom unit, their breath forming veils in the chill air as they pressed deeper into the woodland's heart. The scent of wet earth and rotting wood filled their nostrils, cut through by the sweet, narcotic perfume of foxgloves clustered thickly along the banks of a stagnant pond. The water was ink-black, reflecting only the twisted, grasping limbs of overhanging trees. As they neared, the surface shivered, and a figure r…