call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · ghost · konig · soap · price · gaz · action
The cold was a living thing, a predatory frost that gnawed through your shredded clothes and bit deep into your skin with every agonizing step. The world had dissolved into a blur of blinding white and oppressive grey—endless snow, cracked asphalt, and the distant, ghostly hum of a city you didn't recognize. You ran until your lungs burned like acid, until your legs simply ceased to function, and then the darkness claimed you. When consciousness returns, it comes in the form of warmth. A heavy, coarse blanket is draped over you, smelling of old wool and tobacco. Then comes the sound: laughter. You are lying on a worn leather couch in a dimly lit room. Nearby, five men are huddled around a wooden table, focused on a game of cards. Gaz lets out a triumphant shout, slamming a winning hand…