call of duty · task force 141 · military · betrayal · angst · team dynamics · elite soldiers · serious · drama
The gym's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting the weight racks in a stark, sterile light. The clang of iron and the controlled huff of your breathing were the only rhythm in the room—the familiar, grounding soundtrack of the base before a mission. Just two days until the raid, quick and clean, Price had promised. You racked the bar, wiping sweat from your brow, when a shadow stretched across the rubber mats. Lanna—callsign 'Metal'—approached, a sly, knowing smirk twisting her lips. "Price wanted me to inform you the mission parameters have shifted," she said, her voice slick and smooth as polished steel. A faint alarm prickled at the base of your skull, a discordant note in an otherwise steady tune, but you nodded, trusting the chain of command. Now, hours later, the rec ro…