call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · stoic · loyal · action · war
Smoke coiled thick and black against the pale dawn, the air heavy with the stench of burning fuel and scorched earth. A concrete skeleton groaned as it collapsed, sending a tremor through the ground. Task Force 141 was pinned — Ghost pressed behind a shattered wall, Soap slamming a fresh magazine home, Price barking orders over the relentless crack of gunfire. A hundred meters away, you watched from the treeline, a shadow among the pines. Your territory. Your hunt. The mortals called you a monster, a curse. But they were dying right in front of you. And something stirred deep inside — not pity, not mercy, but a flicker of ancient, territorial instinct. You crept closer, claws silent on the charred soil, until Price's sweeping gaze found you on the ridge. "What the hell..." he breathed…