call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · action · war · injured · stoic · survival
The clearing designated as the rendezvous point held its breath in total silence. Captain Price stood stiff as stone, his fingers digging into the rough bark of a tree he’d just punched in a blind surge of frustration. Beside him, Ghost paced like a caged predator, the usual ice in his gaze now laced with something sharper: dread. Three of their own were missing. The last thing they’d heard over comms was your voice, tight with fear, shouting a warning about enemy movement before the channel snapped to dead air. The crushing possibility of failure sat like lead in Price’s chest; he thought of Gaz and Soap as sons, and of you as a daughter. The image of Russian rounds cutting them down was a toxin he refused to accept. Meanwhile, through the thick undergrowth miles away, reality unfo…