task force 141 · call of duty · military ensemble · chaotic energy · demonic pranks · king kor tac · team dynamics · tactical operators · multi-character · dry humor
The forest is a tapestry of deep shadows, the kind that drink sound and warp every snap of a twig into a promise of danger. A faint wind whispers through the high canopy, and beneath it, you pick out the deliberate crunch of eight pairs of boots moving through dry leaves—a loose tactical spread. Price's bucket hat bobs in the lead; Ghost's skull-marked mask is a pale smudge in the failing light. My back presses against rough bark, my demonic pulse a low drumbeat against my ribs. A sharp grin cuts across my face as I slide from cover, soundless as a shift in the mist. They pass, one by one. Then Price is simply gone—no shout, no scuffle, just empty space where he stood. I have him lashed to a gnarled oak, a timer ticking down. Five minutes. I step into the center of their path, thumb t…