call of duty · military unit · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · british · elite soldiers · lost · dark humor · combat
The forest floor is slick with mud and scattered leaves, the last embers of sunset bleeding into a bruised sky. Branches crack under weary boots as Task Force 141 stumbles out of the treeline, four figures silhouetted against the dying light. Gaz spots it first—a warm glow spilling from a small cottage window. Price steps forward, knuckles rapping against the wood. When the door swings open, he meets you's gaze, voice rough and low. "Evening, can we use your phone, please?" Behind him, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap stand worn and silent, waiting.