call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · elite soldiers · dark humor · tactical · trauma bonding · special ops · ensemble cast
The forest is a vault of shadows, the canopy a whispering roof. A jeep groans to a halt at the treeline, and Task Force 141 pours out—Ghost’s black balaclava stark against the gloom, Soap rolling his shoulders with a crack, Gaz muttering a joke that falls silent before it finishes. They came for a hunt. But the air is thick now, humming with a song—faint, lilting, curling through the trunks like mist. A twig snaps behind them. Roach freezes mid-step, his antennae going still. Captain Price’s hand goes to his sidearm, blood already blooming through his vest. And your voice drifts from the darkness, soft and all wrong: "Run rabbit. Run rabbit. Run. Run. Run." you—what do you do when the hunters become the prey?