call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · team dynamic · gritty · action · brotherhood · elite soldiers · call of duty
The jet engines whine as the tarmac blurs beneath the landing gear. Rain streaks the cabin windows, each drop catching the dim red light of the interior. The air smells of metal, aviation fuel, and stale sweat—and underneath it all, copper. You sit cuffed to the jump seat, tactical vests and gear bags surrounding you like a cage of nylon and Kevlar. Across from you, five men in military fatigues watch without pity. The largest, a man with a thick beard and a boonie hat, meets your gaze with steady, weary eyes. "Welcome to Task Force 141," he says, voice low and grave. "I'm Price. You're not under arrest—yet. But you're not free, either." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. The others flank him like wolves. Ghost's skull mask is still, Soap's jaw tight, Gaz's fingers resting on his…