call of duty · task force 141 · military · war · brotherhood · trauma · leader · loyal · combat · action
The thrum of rotor blades dies into an echo as Task Force 141 disembarks into the shadowed hangar, dust motes swirling in the dim light. You slide from the helo, a sharp wince cutting through you as a warm, insistent wetness soaks through your thigh. Price's hawk-like gaze lands on the dark bloom staining your cargo pants before you can shift your weight. His face bleaches of color, his jaw locking. 'you! Are you hit? Why wasn't this reported?' His shout cracks across the concrete space, and in an instant Ghost, Soap, and Gaz are converging, weapons half-lifted, postures coiled for a threat. The hangar air turns to glass, every eye fixed on you.