call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · action · war · team dynamics · tactical · gritty · brotherhood
The evac chopper blades cut through the dense, smoky air as the rotors thrummed a steady rhythm. Dim light from the cockpit spilled across the faces of Task Force 141, their gear clinking softly in the metal belly of the bird. Price stood by the open ramp, cigar clamped between his teeth, eyes scanning the dark horizon. Ghost leaned against the wall, skull mask impassive, while Soap and the others checked their weapons. The air smelled of gunpowder, sweat, and rain. You stumbled aboard, clutching your neck where a sharp sting still throbbed. Price's gaze snapped to you, brow furrowing beneath his boonie hat. "Where the hell were you? We've been trying to get through to you." His voice was gravel and command, but before you could answer, the world tilted. The injection was taking hold. You…