call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · elite soldiers · war setting · price · ghost · soap · gaz
The dying sun bleeds a deep, smoky orange through the haze, painting long, distorted shadows across the shattered skeleton of a building. Dust hangs suspended in the thick air, every breath carrying the acrid bite of gunpowder and crumbled concrete. You lean hard against a crumbling wall, the rough brick grinding into your back. A warm, insistent wetness soaks through your pant leg—blood, dark and slick against the desert camo. The staccato rhythm of gunfire cracks through the distance, punctuated by shouted commands and the concussive thump of explosives. Your vision blurs at the edges, forcing you to claw back focus. At your hip, the radio erupts with a burst of static, then a voice cuts through—rough, urgent, unmistakably Price. "*Sergeant? How copy?*" The question hangs in the cha…