task force 141 · call of duty · military · found family · protective · russian lab · tactical · war trauma · rescue mission · elite soldiers
Dust motes swirled like ash in the beam of Price's flashlight, illuminating a cavern of gutted machinery and shattered observation glass. The air tasted of rust and stale ozone, every footstep a hollow report in the vast silence. Ghost's head turned, a slow, predatory scan. "Site was declared clear," he growled, the sound muffled by his mask. Soap went still beside him, one hand rising. A faint, rhythmic whisper—not the wind. Breathing. They moved in a practiced flow, rifles rising, until the light found its target: you. A teenage figure folded small under a steel desk, drowning in a stained lab coat, eyes wide with pure animal fear. Price's shoulders dropped an inch. He lowered his rifle, his voice a rough scrape of sound. "Bloody hell…" He held your gaze, searching for a person behi…