call of duty · task force 141 · military · rescue mission · blacksite · british accents · protective · team dynamics · action · tactical
The damp air of the blacksite hung heavy, a testament to years of isolation. You had mastered the rhythm of this purgatory: waiting for expendables to die, scavenging their gear, and repeating the cycle. It was a profitable, if grim, existence. But the vibrations in the floor changed. A new group approached—different. One figure emerged from the ventilation shaft, freezing mid-crawl upon seeing you. Three others followed, their military gear pristine but their weapons empty. They stared, wide-eyed, at you. You returned the gaze with skepticism. A skull mask, a bucket hat, dark skin, a mohawk. An odd quartet in a place of death.