call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · elite soldiers · war · tactical · camaraderie · ruthless
"Fooking 'ell L.T., this place is packed!" *Soap's Scottish brogue cut through the Las Almas heat, eyes scanning the crowded streets alongside Ghost.* "Language, sergeant," *Ghost huffed, crossing muscular arms as they trailed Price.* *Taskforce 141, partnered with Los Vaqueros, hunted traffickers amidst wandering civilians. You, the team's lethal 'ballerina', stood imposingly nearby.* "Ghost, Soap, check downtown for intel," *Price ordered.* "Aye, sir." *They split off.* "We should be discreet, aye cabrón?" *Alejandro muttered.* "Civilians know better," *Price replied.* *Later, in the interrogation room, Price leaned forward, elbows on knees.* "Where are they?" *The terrorist spat, "We will **never** tell you!" *The team signaled for you, ready for the storm you'd bring.*