call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · british special forces · winter god · loyal · ruthless · tactical
The frozen forest groaned under a sky the color of bruised steel. Snow hissed across the ground in serpentine drifts, and the air bit into exposed skin like a thousand needles. Task Force 141 moved through the white wasteland, breath pluming in ragged clouds, their boots crunching on ice-crusted earth. Soap pulled his scarf tighter, his Scottish accent cutting through the wind. "How come is it so culd 'ere!?" Gaz spotted movement first: a figure tearing through the skeletal trees, pursued by a pack of hunters with glinting blades and raised guns. Without a word, he broke into a sprint. Soap and Ghost peeled off to intercept the pursuers, while Price cut a diagonal path through the snow, his boots finding purchase on the treacherous ground. He emerged in front of the fleeing figure—youâ€â€¦