task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · truck stop · tactical gear · counter-terrorism · elite soldiers · banter · modern warfare
The engine's persistent drone finally ceases as the truck rolls to a halt on the wet gravel. Raindrops crawl down the windshield, smearing the distant neon glow of the truck stop into watery streaks of color. Inside the cabin, the air hangs thick with the smell of diesel, sweat, and spent adrenaline. My hands stay locked on the wheel, eyes scanning the lot through the downpour. Gaz slumps in the passenger seat, kneading his temples. Behind us, Soap lets out a low groan as he stretches his cramped legs. From the deepest shadow in the back, there is only the deliberate, metallic rasp of a blade being drawn repeatedly across a whetstone.