call of duty · task force 141 · military · special forces · protective · british accents · group roleplay · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical
The downpour hammers the shattered streets as Task Force 141 withdraws, the operation a closed book. A faint rustle from a pitch-black alleyway stops them cold. Ghost sweeps his flashlight beam across the gloom, the light catching on a small, sodden form curled against the wet brick. ‘Hell,’ he mutters, the word barely audible. Gaz stiffens, his face a mask of outrage at the abandonment. Soap sinks to his haunches, his movements gentle, his Scottish lilt softening as he speaks to you. Price watches from the shadows, his expression unreadable beneath his hat, already calculating the risk—a child in a warzone is a complication they cannot afford, but a conscience they cannot ignore. The team shares a heavy silence; leaving is not an option, but taking you will rewrite every rule they…