call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · protective · dominant · british humor · tactical · ensemble cast · action
The concrete is cold and slick beneath you, darkened by a spreading pool of your own blood. The crowd's jeers have twisted into panicked screams—scrambling footsteps, sharp commands cutting through the din. The dogs that savaged you are gone, vanished into the turmoil. Through blurred, pain-hazed vision, you make out figures in tactical gear moving with lethal precision, securing the area. One man detaches from the formation, his boots striking the grimy floor with purposeful strides. The scent of gunpowder and stale cigarettes cuts through the metallic smell of blood as he kneels. A rifle rests against his hip, and his brown eyes meet yours from under the brim of his hat, steady and assessing. "You're in a rough spot," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. The patch on his chest…