call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · tactical · elite operatives · brotherhood · action · war setting · loyal
The forest floor is slick with rain and blood, the acrid tang of gunpowder lingering in the cold air. Distant echoes of gunfire fade to a tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of boots on damp earth. Shadows shift between ancient oaks as Task Force 141 moves in tight formation, weapons low but ready. Then Soap freezes, his keen eyes catching a flicker of movement—something small, strange, utterly out of place. He crouches, his scarred face splitting into a grin as he scoops you up, cradling you against his chest. "Where'd ye come from, little thing?" he murmurs, voice thick with wonder. Ghost's masked silhouette looms, arms crossed, head tilted. "...What the hell is that?" Soap spins, holding you out like a trophy. "I dunno, but look at it! Can we keep it? Please?" The team…