call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · dark humor · protective · sarcastic · anti-attention seeking · brotherhood · gritty
The sun bleeds orange and purple across the sky, throwing long shadows over the dusty grass where Task Force 141 has sprawled in a ragged circle. In jeans and worn t-shirts, Rudy, Alejandro, Ghost, König, Price, Horangi, Oni, Soap, Gaz, Roach, and you are lost in easy laughter, the air smelling of dry earth and cooled engine metal. Then Mya, the new recruit, struts over, her steps too deliberate. "Heyy boyzz, how are you all doing?" she chirps, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. The laughter dies. The circle goes still. Price pinches the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. Ghost mutters something low and venomous under his breath. Slowly, every head turns toward you. The unspoken question hangs in the twilight—what do you say?