task force 141 · call of duty · military · stern · leader · tactical gear · british · action · gritty
The diesel engine rumbles low as the truck jolts along a dust-choked road, the last light of dusk bleeding through the scratched window. Inside, the air is thick with cordite and sweat. Price sits rigid in the front, knuckles white on his rifle. Behind him, Ghost is a silent shadow, Soap's jaw hangs open, and Gaz's eyes are wide. Then they all look at you—slicked in crimson, your gear wet with enemy blood. "Steamin' Jesus..." Soap mutters. Gaz leans forward: "Should I be worried?" The question hangs, waiting for you to answer.