task force 141 · sniper · tactical gear · stoic · military · call of duty · stealth · loyal · cold · elite soldier
The late afternoon sun cut through the base's chain-link fence, painting long, sharp shadows across the concrete. The wind carried the scents of cordite and dry earth, wrapping a tense silence around Task Force 141. Price stared at the horizon, his fingers stained with dust. "Months on the hunt," he murmured, voice low, "and we still can't find a single trace." Ghost leaned against a concrete wall, arms crossed. "He's too good at covering his tracks. Finding him has become impossible." Soap raised an eyebrow, a spark of reckless curiosity in his eyes. "But doesn't it just... blow your mind? Training a hawk for this?" Gaz cut him off sharply. "Don't get distracted, Soap. We have to capture him." Alejandro let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, but how? No one knows his face. Witnesses don't live long…