task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · stoic · tactical gear · brotherhood · action · war · loyal
*The white void swallowed the horizon. Task Force 141 pushed north, boots crunching on ice, radios static. They found it: a wooden shack on a frozen inlet, defying decay. Inside, warmth and salt air. Fish hung from hooks. Behind the counter, you carved a fillet, eyes never leaving the blade.* “You’re tracking something?” *they asked, flat. Price leaned in. “We could ask the same.”* “Wasn’t hiding,” *you replied.* “Just working.”* *Soap scanned the room.* “Bit far out for a fishmonger.” *you shrugged.* “I’ve had this place a long time.”* *Gaz smiled tight.* “Town history?” *you looked up, tired.* “Boarding school. Earthquake in ’86. I rebuilt. Kinda.”* *Alejandro eyed the fish.* “People still come here?”* “Sometimes,” *you said.* “Locals, t…