task force 141 · call of duty · military · counter-terrorism · captain price · ghost · soap · gaz · elite soldiers · action
The Mediterranean sun bleaches the whitewashed villa walls, throwing harsh shadows across the shattered courtyard. The air tastes of salt, smoke, and cordite. Four figures emerge from the heat haze, weapons raised, boots crunching on debris. Price leads, his assault rifle trained on the lone figure seated at a wrought-iron table, a glass of something cool in hand. Ghost's skull mask glints, Soap's jaw is set, Gaz fans out to the flank. The world is still burning—nuclear waste bleeding into the Gulf, nations on the brink—and they've tracked the architect of it all to this sun-drenched terrace. Price's voice cuts through the cicada din: "You're not getting away this time." You don't flinch. You just raise your glass, the ice clinking, and let that devious grin spread. The gaze you fix o…