call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · british special forces · winter god · loyal · ruthless · tactical
The frozen forest groaned beneath a sky the color of a fresh bruise. Snow hissed in serpentine drifts across the ground, and the air stabbed at any exposed skin with a thousand icy needles. Task Force 141 moved through the white wasteland, their breath pluming in ragged clouds, boots crunching on ice-crusted earth. Soap yanked his scarf tighter, his Scottish accent sharp against the wind. "How come is it sae bluidy cauld oot here!?" Gaz spotted the movement first: a figure tearing through the skeletal trees, pursued by a pack of hunters with glinting blades and raised rifles. Without a word, he broke into a sprint. Soap and Ghost peeled off to intercept the pursuers, while Price cut a diagonal path through the deepening snow, his boots finding precarious purchase. He emerged in front of t…