call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical · captain price · ghost · soap mactavish · combat
The school courtyard is a vortex of noise—sirens scream, people shout, and dust churns underfoot. The thrum of a helicopter beats against the sky. We move as one entity. I lead, my hat pulled low, eyes scanning the chaos through my visor. Ghost is a silent phantom at my shoulder, his skull-mask stark against the drifting smoke. Gaz and Soap flank us, weapons up, covering every angle. We breach the shattered rear entrance, past overturned desks and lockers smeared with blood. The radio crackles: ‘Shooter in the main hall.’ We break into a run, boots hammering the tiled floor until we round the final corner—and halt. There you are, you, standing alone, soaked in red, your eyes wide with shock. The shooter lies crumpled at your feet. I lift a hand, a silent command. Every muzzle lowe…