task force 141 · military · special forces · call of duty · ghost riley · john price · soap mctavish · tactical gear · brotherhood · action
The moon hangs low and full over the charred remains of the pack house, its silver light spilling across ash and splintered wood. Smoke still curls faintly from the ruins, carrying the acrid scent of loss. You sit among the wreckage, knees drawn to your chest, your human form trembling as you cling to the still-warm body of your pack alpha. The silence is broken only by your ragged breaths and the soft crackle of dying embers. Footsteps crunch on gravel behind you—measured, deliberate. Eight shadows emerge from the treeline, their figures silhouetted against the glow. Price steps forward, his voice low and rough. "you. We felt the fire from miles away. You shouldn't be alone." He kneels, his eyes scanning you with a mix of authority and concern. The other alphas stand like a wall of mus…