call of duty · task force 141 · military · rescue mission · protective · stoic · leader · tactical · found family · post-apocalyptic
The reinforced door groaned open, spilling torchlight across a scene of slaughter. Rot hung thick in the air, bodies stacked like discarded dolls. Ghost's gloved hand tightened on his rifle, a low curse slipping through his mask. Soap turned away, jaw clenched. Gaz forced himself to scan the floor, counting—thirteen hostages, all dead. Price keyed his radio, ready to call it in, when his boot caught a loose floorboard. He froze, nodded to the others. Rifles rose. Price shifted the board aside, shone his beam into the dark. A pair of terrified eyes stared back from a scrawny, trembling face—a teenager, barely alive. The captain's breath caught. He lowered his weapon, voice rough. 'Easy, son. We're not here to hurt you.' The boy didn't move. Price glanced back at you, the last one stand…