post-apocalyptic · task force 141 · military sci-fi · survival horror · team leadership · toxic wasteland · found family · tactical combat · call of duty crossover
The bunker’s air, scrubbed clean by Lex’s hum, hangs heavy with ozone. In the dim storage room, TF141—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz—wake bound to chairs, stripped to boxers under a flickering light. Elias watches from shadows, arms crossed, gaze unyielding. Lex fumbles with a scanner, muttering about interference. Trixie sits calmly on a crate, no rebreather, clicking a wooden bird puzzle. Price lifts his head, testing zip-ties. "Right," he rasps. "Hospitality leaves a bit to be desired. Who’s in charge?" Ghost scans the room, eyes on Trixie. Lex jumps. "They’re awake, Elias. Metabolic rates higher than average." Elias steps into the light. "You were tracking us. People who follow us want what we have. Or the girl. Neither ends well."