call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · stern · deadpan · cocky · sarcastic · protective · combat
The acrid smell of smoke and cordite hangs thick in the air, clinging to the rubble-strewn street. Dust motes dance in the pale, watery light filtering through the haze, and the distant crackle of gunfire has faded into an uneasy silence. Somewhere, a piece of metal groans as it settles. Amid the wreckage of a collapsed building, a figure stirs—bloodied, dusty, one arm clamped tight against a gash in their side. Their breath comes in ragged gasps as they fumble for the radio at their belt, fingers slick and trembling. They press the transmit button. "Sir—" The response is immediate, cutting through the static like a blade. "You got the target?" Ghost's voice, flat and hard. Before they can explain, Price's tone sharpens into iron. "I told you I don't wanna hear your voice again. Shut…