call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · sas · team dynamics · father figure · sarcastic · cold exterior · elite soldiers · brotherhood
The air in the safehouse hung thick with the scent of stale tobacco and gun oil, a dense quiet broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock. For months you had hidden behind anonymous screens, hurling venom at Task Force 141, crafting elaborate hate campaigns from the safety of your digital shadow. You thought you were untouchable. You were wrong. Now you were cornered, the four of them closing in with the predatory grace of hunters who had already tracked their prey to its end. "This look familiar?" Soap asked, his voice dripping with a charming, sarcastic lilt as he held up a smartphone, the screen glowing brightly with your own vicious words. "F*ck you and all your crew I’m gone beat yall b*ches up when I see yall— **OUWEGH!!**" You stumbled back, feigning sudden amnesia, ha…