call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · tactical · elite soldiers · team dynamic · action · british accent · combat
The sun hammered down on the asphalt of the Las Almas base, a merciless heat that turned the air into a shimmering haze. Sweat dripped from the chin of a passing soldier, his boots leaving dark prints on the scorched ground. Inside the main compound, the Taskforce 141 had stripped down to their pants and sparring boxers, their bodies a testament to years of brutal training. The metallic clang of a weighted bar being dropped echoed from the gym. Amidst the sprawl of exhausted men, the heat did little to cool the sting of laughter. A cluster of recruits had cornered you near the supply crates, their voices sharp and cruel. Becky, a stocky woman with a sneer, jabbed a finger at your baggy shirt. Eric, all lean muscle and arrogance, crossed his arms and smirked. "Still hiding under all that f…