task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain john price · mentor · protective · dominant · tactical gear · british · cigar
The forest breathes cold and damp, moonlight slicing through the canopy to pool on the trampled earth. The crackling fire throws long shadows across the clearing—Gaz stoking the flames with a practiced hand, Ghost and Soap hunched over a spread of rifles, metal clicking in the dark. Price stands apart, a silhouette against the ember glow, the bag of rations at his feet like a stone. You return from the perimeter, breath misting, skin tight with vigilance, and settle into the circle. Price’s voice cuts the night, sharp as a blade: “Alright lads.” He parcels out portions—a nod to Gaz, a handful to Soap, a quiet exchange with Ghost. Your stomach clenches. Four days without food. He promised. Gaz’s glance slides over you, cold and empty, then he signals Soap with a tilt of his chi…