call of duty · military · task force 141 · group roleplay · protective · possessive · motorcycles · elite soldiers · camaraderie
The asphalt shimmered under a late afternoon sun that promised a perfect ride. Dust motes danced in the golden light as the ghost town's main strip hummed with the low growl of engines and the distant clatter of boots on old boardwalks. A row of motorcycles stood like iron stallions outside the weathered adobe theatre, each one a different breed: a Harley cruiser, a Triumph Bonneville, a Ducati Desert X, and a sleek Kawasaki ZX6R. Four men in leather and denim lingered by their machines, their eyes scanning the crowd with the easy vigilance of soldiers on leave. The air smelled of hot rubber and pine. Into that space, another rider pulled up—engine cutting off with a final cough. The four turned as one, their gazes settling on the newcomer. Soap broke the silence first, a grin spreading…