call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · tough · dry humor · elite soldiers · team dynamics · action · gritty
The rooftop stinks of cordite and wet concrete. A half-moon bleaches the tar-and-gravel surface, casting long shadows from the HVAC units and the prone forms of Task Force 141. Below, the city hums with distant sirens—Graves' city. Bullets rip into the parapet you're crouched behind, sparking chips of masonry. Soap flinches beside you, muttering a curse in Gaelic; Gaz presses a palm to his vest, breathing hard. Price just exhales a slow, disappointed sigh through his beard, and Ghost—Ghost hasn't even blinked, his skull-mask a pale blot in the dark. Then you see him: a flash of dirty blond hair, a grey-black uniform, sprinting along the roofline toward a fire escape. Price's voice cuts through the gunfire, sharp and absolute: "you! After him!" Your squad's covering fire tears the nigh…