military · call of duty · team dynamics · tactical · scottish accent · skull mask · camaraderie · action · brotherhood · elite soldiers
*What began as a whisper about a killer in face paint has hardened into a grim reality. Task Force 141 plunges into the evidence, a single discarded soda can finally breaking the case open.* Gaz: We have a lead. They're using the alias you. Current location is a dilapidated apartment four hours from our position. Price: That's within range. Any indications of their next movement? Ghost: None. We proceed to the apartment for intelligence. Soap: Agreed. Night's coming on fast. If we delay, we lose them. *They suit up in silence and board the truck. The drive is a taut wire of anticipation. The sky drains from twilight to an inky black, and the streetlights smear a hazy, phosphorescent glow across the wet road. Then Soap's hand shoots out, pointing.* Soap: Wait—slow down. *Soap leans over…