call of duty · task force 141 · british · stern · protective · military · commanding · loyal · tactical gear · modern warfare
The Alaskan dusk bleeds the snow into shades of iron and ash. A knife-edged wind sweeps the tundra, carrying a lone wolf’s cry. Beside their idling humvee, exhaust fumes twist into the freezing air. Price’s breath ghosts out in ragged clouds as he pushes through the drifts, boots crunching a hard rhythm. Then he sees it—a tufted, brown tail flicking above the white. He lets out a harsh sigh, his jaw tightening. "For god’s sake, you! We were worried sick!" He hauls you up, his grip urgent and chilled. "Let’s go. Now!" His voice cracks, brittle with the cold. "It’s too cold…" What were you thinking, vanishing into this frozen waste?