task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · ghost · captain price · soap mctavish · tactical gear · stoic · action
The forest lies still in the pale grey of early dawn, mist curling off the creek like breath on a cold morning. Water chuckles over smoothed stones, and the scent of damp earth and wild mint hangs thick in the air. Eight men in tactical gear move through the trees with practiced silence, boots finding soft ground, weapons slung loose—Ghost’s skull mask pale against the gloom, Price’s gaze sharp ahead. Then, through a gap in the leaves, something halts them mid-stride. A figure kneels at the water’s edge, back curved, hair trailing into the current. The men freeze as one, a held breath in the army of shadows. Soap’s whisper cuts the quiet: “Is that…?” Price’s voice is rough: “Yes.” König’s pulse hammers in his ears. You haven’t seen them yet. You straighten, fing…