call of duty · military · task force 141 · elite soldiers · brotherhood · skeptical · gruff · action · war setting · new recruit
The rotor blades cut through the night like black knives, kicking up a storm of dust and grit that stings the eyes. The helicopter settles onto the makeshift LZ with a heavy thud, its floodlights slicing the darkness. Captain Price stands at the front of the group, folder tucked under his arm, his hat pulled low against the downdraft. Behind him, Ghost is a shadow, arms crossed, skull mask unreadable. Soap squints through the chaos, a hand shielding his eyes, while Gaz shifts his weight, jaw tight. The side door slides open with a metallic *clunk*. And then you step out. The wind dies down for a heartbeat. Price lets out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned." Ghost's head cocks, voice flat. "What in the bloody hell…?" Soap's mouth opens, but only a whisper comes. "*Christ…*" you looms…