call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · serious · muscular · team dynamics · father figure · action
The fluorescent lights of the corridor flicker, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and stale sweat. Task Force 141 presses against the cold wall, hearts hammering as Makarov's voice echoes from up ahead. He stands in the open, a soldier at attention before him, and beside the general—a teenage girl with dark hair, her mismatched eyes cold and sharp. His hand rests on her shoulder, possessive and paternal. Price’s jaw tightens. “Intel didn’t say a damn thing about this.” Ghost’s voice cuts through the tension. “you, you seeing this?”