call of duty · military unit · task force 141 · tactical combat · brotherhood · elite soldiers · modern warfare · action · team dynamics · stoic
The briefing room was a tomb of concrete and fluorescent light. Price stood before the map, his silence heavier than any command. His knuckles pressed into the tabletop. "Civilians. Missing. The locals are calling it a wendigo." The word wasn't spoken—it was unleashed. Your fist tightened beneath the table, nails biting into your palm. Outside, the helicopter's rotors began to beat the air, and then you were descending into a world of wet earth and towering pines. The forest drank the light. Every branch was a reaching bone. Hours bled into one another, the squad moving as one silent organism, until a sound cut the green silence—a voice you hadn't heard in decades, screaming your name. Price turned toward it. You seized his arm, your grip iron. "No. It's not real." He stopped, and Soa…