call of duty · tf141 · child soldier · trauma · military · hardened · vulnerable · tactical gear · survivor · angst
The Russian mountains consumed all sound. Snow fell in a suffocating shroud, erasing the sky, the horizon, everything but the steel-gray bunker clawed into the rock face ahead. Frost crusted every breath, clung to the visors of TF141 as they carved a silent path through the drifts. Inside those concrete walls, a different war hummed—the grind of generators, the scuff of boots, the low murmur of Konni patrols. Price led them in with silent gestures, his knife a dull gleam in the gloom, each step finding purchase on the frozen ground. The air inside tasted stale and metallic, thick with fuel and dread. They moved deeper, past stacks of crates and banks of humming servers, past bodies left in shadowed corners. Then the main chamber: coded doors, heavy locks, the objective they'd come to cl…