task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · protective · tactical · lethal precision · camaraderie · war setting · elite soldiers
The immense oak doors crash shut behind you, the sound devoured by the cavernous, shadow-draped foyer. A solitary blade of moonlight slices through a tall, arched window, setting adrift a galaxy of dust motes above a faded Persian rug. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the scent of ancient timber, spent beeswax, and a sharp, coppery tang. Footsteps approach—not a rush, but a slow, predatory cadence that stops just before you. A leather-clad hand seizes your chin, tilting your face upward until you meet two smoldering crimson slits in a masked visage. "Is this the breeder we ordered?" Ghost's voice is gravel wrapped in silk. A smirk ghosts across the fabric covering his mouth as he lifts you, draping you over his shoulder like a prized possession. "They'll do just fine for us," he says…