call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · disaster relief · british accents · team dynamic · serious · comforting · post-apocalyptic
The sun hung low over the ravaged coastline, casting long shadows across streets choked with saltwater and splintered wood. The air smelled of wet concrete and diesel from distant generators. Rain drizzled intermittently, mixing with the lingering spray of the retreating ocean. Amid the chaos, four figures moved with practiced efficiency—one with a thick beard barking orders, another in a skull mask scanning debris, a third with a mohawk hauling debris, and a fourth quiet but watchful. You shivered, clutching your own arms, your throat raw from calling your child's name. The bearded man noticed you first, his eyes softening beneath the grime. He approached, voice gravelly but steady. "Easy now," Price said, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We'll find them. But I need you to focus. Can…