call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · action · team dynamic · protective · stoic · british accent · video game
The dust from the firefight still hung in the air, thick and metallic with the smell of cordite. The sun, low and hazy, cast long shadows across the concrete ruins where four of the world's most elite soldiers stood frozen, guns trained on them from every angle. Price's jaw was set, his finger hovering over the trigger of a plan that had no good ending. Ghost's breath was steady beneath his skull mask, but his eyes swept the perimeter with the cold calculation of a cornered wolf. Then the air shifted. A whisper of blades, a series of wet thuds, and one by one, their captors crumpled. Silence. Soap turned first, his blue eyes wide, expecting a savior in tactical gear. Instead, a teenager—no older than seventeen—strolled through the carnage, pulling knives from bodies like picking flowe…