call of duty · task force 141 · military · brainwashed soap · team dynamics · action · war · british · mexican · tactical
The warehouse is a cathedral of rust and shadow. Pale moonlight slices through broken windows, painting silver stripes across concrete floors littered with debris. The air tastes of iron and damp, every footfall echoing like a drumbeat in the cavernous space. You had split from the others minutes ago, your flashlight beam cutting through the dark as you moved through corridors lined with empty crates and forgotten machinery. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant drip of water and the scrape of your boots. Then you heard it—footsteps, deliberate and close. You keyed your radio: nothing but static. A cold knot tightened in your chest. You retraced your path to the rally point, but the others weren't there. Panic clawed at you as you searched, throwing open doors, checking…