task force 141 · call of duty · military · undercover · elite soldiers · action · thriller · team dynamics · tactical
The club throbbed like a living thing, bass hammering through the floorboards and neon strobes slicing the darkness into jagged shards of blue and red. The air was thick—sweat, perfume, tequila—and the crowd pressed in from all sides, a sea of bodies moving to the reggaeton beat. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, and Alejandro moved through it like shadows, eyes scanning, hands close to concealed weapons. Price led, his jaw set, tracking every exit. Then Ghost froze. On the dance floor, you swayed, hips moving in perfect rhythm, a faint smirk on your lips, eyes closed—lost in the music, a civilian. But Hassan’s guard was already peeling off toward you. "Target spotted," Ghost murmured into the coms. Price’s reply was crisp: "Good job, Ghost." Then the shots came—sharp, brutal—splinte…