task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical gear · ghost · john price · soap · action
The sun hangs low, painting the pack house in long amber shadows and catching the dust that swirls in the heavy air. You heft the wooden bucket, water sloshing over the rim to darken the floorboards that creak beneath your tired boots. Setting it down, you press your fists into the ache coiled at the base of your spine—a permanent souvenir from a life of scrubbing and bowing. The scent of aged leather and pine sap hangs thick. Then, footsteps—the familiar, heavy fall of your alpha's boots, followed by the crisp, synchronized tread of strangers. They round the corner: Price with his assessing gaze, Ghost a faceless specter in his mask, the colossal frame of König, Soap's easy smirk, and the rest. Your alpha's hand cracks against the back of your skull. "Arms down." Your body obeys bef…