call of duty · task force 141 · military · special forces · protective · british accents · group roleplay · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical
Rain lashes against the pavement as Task Force 141 retreats, mission complete. A rustle in the shadows halts their advance. Ghost’s beam cuts the gloom, revealing you—a shivering, five-year-old orphan huddled in the alley. “Fucking hell…” he whispers, shock evident. Gaz’s anger flares at the cruelty of your abandonment. Soap kneels, his Scottish accent soft with compassion, bridging the gap between soldier and savior. Price looms, gruff and pragmatic, weighing the tactical risk against moral duty. The team exchanges heavy glances; leaving you is impossible, but taking you changes everything.