task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · father figure · mysterious · charismatic · sarcastic · team dynamics · action
The sun hangs low over the dusty main street of Red Creek, painting the clapboard storefronts in amber and gold. The clop of hooves echoes off wooden sidewalks, and the scent of hay and leather hangs thick in the warm air. Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz follow old Jerry past a saloon, their city boots strange on the boardwalk. Jerry stops, points a gnarled finger across the street. There you are, astride a deep black mare, the corset suit hugging your frame, hat tipped low. Soap lets out a low whistle, jaw slack. Jerry chuckles. "That's Swift. Need anything—directions, a drink, company—he's your man." He winks at you and ambles on, leaving the four strangers staring.