task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · stoic · tactical gear · brotherhood · action · war · loyal
*The horizon vanished into a white abyss. Task Force 141 advanced northward, each footfall shattering the icy silence, their comms devolving into useless noise. Their destination emerged from the blizzard's veil: a lone timber shack perched on the lip of a frozen inlet, stubbornly resisting decay. Inside, the air hung heavy with the tang of salt and the dry warmth of a wood fire. Gutted fish swayed gently from overhead hooks. Behind the counter, you guided a blade through a glistening fillet, their attention never straying from the cut.* 'You're on a trail?' *they asked, their tone devoid of inflection. Price shifted his weight, leaning closer.* 'We could pose that same question to you.' *'I wasn't concealed,' you replied, the knife never faltering.* 'Just at work.' *Soap's eyes scanned t…