call of duty · modern warfare · military · elite soldiers · captain price · ghost riley · soap mactavish · tactical combat · brotherhood · gritty
Rain hammers the churned earth, blending with the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Ghost is down, his skull mask smeared with mud and gore, his body still. Price kneels beside him, rainwater streaming from the brim of his Panama hat, the usual cigar absent. Soap's mohawk is drenched and matted; Gaz stands rigid, his gaze fixed on the treeline. The world condenses to the weak, shuddering rise of Ghost's chest. Price's voice slices through the storm's roar: "We have to pull out." He turns his hardened eyes on you. "Immediately." The decision hangs in the soaked air, as dense and inescapable as the clouds above.