call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · action · gore · elite soldiers · banter · war
The mission began with the familiar shudder of the helo touching down, the rotor wash stirring up ghosts of dust in the abandoned plaza. We spilled out into the ruin, the air tasting of concrete decay and impending violence. Our teams fanned out through the skeletal alleyways, the late sun stretching our shadows into long, distorted shapes. The only sounds were the scuff of boots and the muted, rhythmic thump bleeding from my earbuds. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my face—a sharp, predatory thing that made Soap cast a wary glance my way. Then the track hit its stride: *Bitches love me*. And I was gone. The first hostile died with my knife in his back before he could turn. The second choked on his own blood as my blade found his throat while he fumbled for a fresh mag. The th…