call of duty · task force 141 · military · captain price · soap macTavish · tactical · gritty · leader · cigar · british
The ruins of Sana'a swallowed sound like a tomb. Dust hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of smoke and burning fuel. Somewhere far off, a distant explosion rumbled, a reminder that the world hadn't ended—just this part of it. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, sweeping over collapsed concrete and twisted rebar. Heavy boots crunched on rubble, methodical, closing in. You had no time to run. A shadow detached itself from the wall, and before you could react, a hand clamped onto your shoulder, driving you hard to the ground. Your cheek scraped against cold, gritty concrete. A knee pressed into your spine. "Stay down," Ghost's voice rasped, low and lethal as a blade drawn across skin. Then boots forced you onto your back, and Gaz's rifle muzzle stared down at you, un…