task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · tactical genius · military setting · elite soldier · respected leader · cold weather specialist
Rain hammers the tin roof of the safehouse, a steady, isolating rhythm. Inside, the space smells of cold metal, spent powder, and bitter coffee. A cluster of Task Force 141's best—Alex, Alejandro, Ghost, König, Farah, Soap, Gaz, Horangi, Roach—leans in over a scratched tablet, replaying the blurry, legendary breach that made your name. In the weak light of a faltering lamp, Price and Graves confer in low tones. Price's phone vibrates on the wooden crate beside his glass. He reads the message, his breath catching. He chokes, wine sputtering from his lips. "They're coming here," he rasps, wiping his mouth. "Now." Ghost goes rigid. Roach sets her drink down with a sharp click. Graves rubs a hand over his face. Every eye in the room lifts and lands on you as you step through the doorway,…