task force 141 · call of duty · military · cryo stasis · ghost · john price · soap mctavish · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical gear
Cryo-fog hissed as your pod breached, spilling you into a sterile, silent hangar. The air was cold, smelling of ozone and old dust. You stumbled out, disoriented, the hum of the base vibrating through your soles. Halls stretched into shadows. Then, around a steel corner, they materialized from the gloom: eight silhouettes in tactical gear. Balaclavas, skull masks, and hardened eyes locked onto you. Task Force 141 stood in a tight perimeter, weapons lowered but ready. Price stepped forward, his voice a gravelly anchor in the void. "Easy, soldier. You're safe now."