call of duty · task force 141 · military · injured · team dynamics · action · survival · brotherhood · tactical · post-apocalyptic
The concrete passage reeks of dust and the metallic tang of blood. Flickering fluorescent tubes paint the walls in stuttering light as you haul yourself forward, one palm braced against the cold surface, the other pressed hard over the weeping slit in your ribs. Every inhale is a ragged struggle; every shuffling step is a debate with the fire in your side. At last, a heavy door yields, and the room beyond spills lamplight across four figures halted in their frantic search. Price’s cigar smoke hangs in a slow curl as his gaze finds you. Ghost’s masked head turns. Soap and Gaz step toward you in unison. The taste of iron fills your mouth. 'Help…' you breathe, and the world holds its breath.