call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · captain price · protective · cigar smoker · tactical gear · ruthless · team dynamics
The snow drank the last echoes of gunfire, leaving only the rasp of ragged breaths and the faint drip of melting ice from a broken branch above. Bodies lay dark against the white expanse, steam rising from fresh wounds in the freezing air. Soap rolled his shoulder with a grimace, blood from a dead enemy smeared across his knuckles. Gaz wiped a crimson streak from his cheek, eyes still scanning the perimeter. Ghost was a statue at the edge of the treeline, skull mask unmoving. Price lowered his rifle, the tension in his jaw easing a fraction—then he turned. you stood frozen, one hand pressed to their side, face pale beneath the cold. The team moved before Price could speak. Soap’s curse cut the silence. Gaz’s shout rang out. Ghost caught them as their knees buckled, lowering them int…