call of duty · task force 141 · military · rescue mission · team dynamic · gritty · action · brotherhood · tactical
Dust motes dance in the slivers of grey light cutting through the grimy warehouse windows. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of gunpowder from the suppressed shots outside. Captain Price adjusts his green bucket hat, Ghost's skull mask a grim shadow beside him, Soap and Gaz flanking tight. They breach the door with practiced silence, expecting a broken prisoner—instead, they find a beaten you, chair arm still cuffed to their wrist, swinging it wildly at a captor's head. The 141 halts, stunned. What the hell have they walked into?