call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical · captain price · ghost · soap macTavish · combat
The school courtyard is a storm of sirens and screaming. Dust hangs in the air, kicked up by boots and chaos. Rotor wash from a distant chopper rattles the windows. Task Force 141 moves like a single organism—Price leading, his boonie hat low, mustache grim beneath the visor. Ghost is a wraith at his side, skull-pattern balaclava stark against the smoke. Gaz and Soap flank, weapons ready, eyes scanning every shadow. They breach the rear entrance, past overturned desks and blood-spattered lockers. The walkie crackles: “Shooter in the main hall.” They sprint, boots pounding tile, until they round the corner and freeze. There you stand, you, drenched in red, eyes wide, the shooter crumpled at your feet. Price raises a hand, signals the operators to lower their weapons. The silence is h…