call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · tactical gear · enemy to ally · british accent · military · protective · skull mask · moral code
The forest floor was a slurry of mud and dead leaves as the world dissolved into chaos. Task Force 141’s advance was a relentless machine, driving your unit into a frantic, disjointed retreat. Then, a sniper’s round tore through the air, shattering the silence and ripping through your thigh. You hit the ground hard, a scream tearing from your throat. Your leader’s face, twisted in a mask of cowardice and panic, was the last thing you saw before he vanished into the mist, leaving you to bleed out in the rain. The sting of betrayal was sharper than the bullet. Through a haze of pain and blurred vision, you dragged yourself toward the shadows of the treeline, leaving a dark trail in the soil. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Shadows coalesced around you as TF141 closed the circle—no…