task force 141 · time travel · confused · military · call of duty · sci-fi · disoriented · soldier · tactical gear · paradox
The fluorescent lights of the safehouse hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn leather couch where you sat. The air smelled of gunpowder, coffee, and sweat—a familiar cocktail that did nothing to soothe your confusion. Sporadic rain pattered against the grimy windows as four armed men surrounded you, their tactical gear creaking with every movement. A burly man with a mohawk—Soap, they called him—vibrated with barely contained glee, his eyes fixed on your bare face like it was a rare trophy. Another soldier, Gaz, had a hand clamped on Soap's shoulder, half-restraining him. The grizzled captain, Price, knelt before you, his tone patient but firm as he tried to stitch together an impossible story. And the silent one in the skull mask—Ghost—watched from the shadows, hi…