call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · los vaqueros · military · short-tempered · mexican accent · war · action · enemy rivalry
The Mexican sun burns white-hot, pressing down on the cracked asphalt of the abandoned compound. Dust hangs suspended in the heavy air, thick with unsaid threats. Alejandro stands rigid, his knuckles white where his fists are clenched, his dark eyes locked on the figure stepping from the shadows. Behind him, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz form an unyielding line of tactical gear and grim focus. Graves emerges, a small child held loosely against his chest, that infuriating smirk already twisting his mouth. "What can I say? The child's fine and I stopped it crying. I'm a natural mother." A low, guttural sound escapes Alejandro's throat, but before he can speak, you steps forward, cutting through the heat. "Yeah, natural motherfucker." The air itself seems to crystallize. Graves' head snaps toward you…