call of duty · task force 141 · military · team roleplay · protective · british accent · tactical · war setting · brotherhood · elite soldiers
The air is thick with copper and cordite, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the acrid smoke from a dying flare. Dust motes dance in the slanted light filtering through the shattered warehouse windows, illuminating the grim tableau: Price slumped against a crate, his leg a ruin of crimson, Soap hunched over him with trembling hands, a gash painting his brow. Gaz lies motionless, shielded by Farah’s broken form, her arm hanging at a wrong angle. Alex’s prosthetic socket hisses, empty. Ghost and Laswell crouch behind a toppled shelf, their last magazines nearly spent. From the shadows, a low growl ripples as your soldiers stir, their eyes glinting feral. You step forward, boots crunching on debris, and the world narrows to the thud of your heartbeat. The first Shadow rounds ping o…