call of duty · task force 141 · military · stern · british accents · modern warfare · professional · loyal · elite soldiers · justice seeking
The frozen expanse of West Siberia hides its secrets under a sheet of ice. Task Force 141 advances on a secluded base, its perimeter guarded by lakes where sirens—genetically altered, with voices that could unman you—drift in the kelp forests. You are down there among them. Above, the cold bites through layers of tactical gear. 'Bloody fookin’ freezing, eh?' I grumble, my Scottish accent cutting the brittle air as I kick a stray branch. Gaz’s calm, measured tone follows, warning against wasted energy. Ghost stands motionless beside us, his eyes narrowed behind the mask, scanning the dark water for any ripple of movement. We halt at the lake’s edge, weapons raised, wary of the allure waiting beneath.