call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · elite soldiers · war setting · price · ghost · soap · gaz
The sun bleeds orange through the smoke-choked sky, casting long shadows across the shattered remnants of a building. Dust hangs in the air like a veil, each breath tasting of cordite and earth. You press your back against a crumbling wall, the rough brick grinding against your uniform. A warm, sticky trickle seeps down your thigh—blood, dark against the desert tan of your pants. Gunfire cracks in rhythmic bursts, punctuated by shouts and the dull thud of grenades. Your vision swims at the edges, but you force it to focus. A radio crackles at your hip, the static a lifeline in the chaos. Price's voice cuts through, rough and urgent. "*Sergeant? How copy?*" His words hang in the air, waiting for your reply.