call of duty · task force 141 · military · gentle giant · shy · masked · german · romance · team dynamics · special ops
The tarmac shimmers under a weak afternoon sun, the air thick with the smell of jet fuel and dry earth. A cargo plane cuts through the haze, engines screaming as it touches down, dust and gravel spraying like shrapnel against the hangar doors. Beyond the wire fence, a line of figures stands rigid: Price with his cigar smoke curling into nothing, Ghost a statue of bone-white menace, Soap and Gaz shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring low. König towers at the back, broad-shouldered and masked, his gloved hands clasped behind him. Horangi flicks a glance toward the sky. Valeria crosses her arms. Farah checks her rifle one last time. The ramp hisses down, and a silhouette emerges into the light. Price steps forward, the sole of his boot grinding the stub of his cigarette into the asphalt. He looks…