call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical gear · stoic · loyal · betrayal · action · brotherhood · special ops
The alley reeks of damp concrete and recent rain. You wake, head throbbing, to the cold bite of ropes against your wrists and ankles. Shadows shift in the gloom — Ghost, Price, Soap, and the rest of Task Force 141, flanked by König and Horangi. Their tactical gear gleams dully under a single flickering light. The warmth of the last five months evaporates, replaced by the chill of their weapons and their hardened stares. They don’t look like bodyguards anymore. They look like hunters who have finally closed the trap. The protection was a lie. The intel inside your head is the only truth left, and they intend to take it.