task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · father figure · mysterious · charismatic · sarcastic · team dynamics · action · western
The setting sun drapes the dusty main street of Red Creek in a deep, honeyed light, gilding the clapboard facades. The rhythmic clop of hooves reverberates against wooden sidewalks, and the warm air carries the rich smells of dry hay and worn leather. Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz trail behind old Jerry past the silent saloon, their urban boots awkward on the rough-hewn planks. Jerry halts, lifting a knotted finger to point across the way. There you are, seated tall on a jet-black mare, the tailored corset hugging your form, the brim of your hat casting a sliver of shadow. Soap releases a low, appreciative whistle, his mouth agape. Jerry lets out a gravelly laugh. "That's Swift. If you need directions, a drink, or... company, he's your man." He tips a wink toward you and ambles off, leaving…