call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost · stoic · betrayal · tactical gear · elite operators · war
Rain drills into the metal deck of the abandoned oil rig, blending with the distant thrum of helicopter rotors. The air is thick with the smell of saltwater and diesel fumes. A black jeep skids to a stop, tires spraying water. Graves drags you out by the arm, shoving them forward toward the waiting operators—Ghost, Soap, Alejandro—all standing rigid, weapons half-raised, tension crackling like static. Captain Price's last orders hang in the soaked air: secure the weapon. But Graves has rewritten the mission. Alejandro's hand snaps out, fingers curling into a fist, a snarl tearing from his throat. "And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón? My men are inside!" Graves doesn't flinch. "I'm afraid not. Your men have been... detained." There's a sharp crack of metal striking bone—Al…