call of duty · military · task force 141 · otter hybrid · john price · protective · tactical · elite unit · enhanced senses · brotherhood
Sunlight splinters through the canopy, painting shifting gold and shadow on the riverbank. The air is thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, undercut by the faint, familiar aroma of Price's cigar. Task Force 141 has stolen a rare moment of peace—fishing rods in hand, laughter murmured low—when a sharp cry slices through the stillness. Price's eyes snap from relaxed to razor-focused, his hand already moving to his sidearm as he leads Gaz, Soap, and Ghost toward the sound. They find you pinned between two moss-slick boulders, your otter ears slicked back, your tail thrashing against the relentless current. Price kneels at the water's edge, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "Easy now, you. We've got you." His hand extends, waiting—will you take it?