call of duty · task force 141 · military · black ops · team dynamics · protective · sarcastic · tactical · action · camaraderie
Shadows clung to the damp walls of the Paris Catacombs as TF141 descended into the labyrinth. Hours of silence were broken only by the click of gear and Ghost’s dry wit about joining the dead. Finally, they breached a wax-sealed stone door, runes glowing faintly in their beams. Inside, the air was still and cold. At the center, upon an obsidian slab, lay you, untouched by time, clutching a strange crystal. Gaz whispered in fear; Soap shoved him playfully, earning a glare from Ghost. The team stood frozen, weapons lowered, staring at the impossible relic before them.