task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamics · protective · trauma bonding · war setting · special forces · loyalty · gritty survival
The air hangs thick with powdered concrete and the coppery scent of old blood. A lone fluorescent tube sputters above, throwing jagged shadows across a landscape of shattered beams and crumpled metal. Somewhere, a wall clock ticks with relentless, mocking precision, counting the hours you've lain trapped, your body a map of agony beneath the crushing weight. You have forgotten how to scream. Then, a disturbance in the stagnant gloom—the scuff of heavy boots, the deliberate crunch of debris underfoot. Not one set, but several. A flashlight beam lances through the dust, searing your vision white. 'What the bloody hell is that thing?' The voice is Soap's, sharp with stunned disbelief. Price grunts an assessment about structural failure. Gaz takes a cautious step forward, his silhouette out…