call of duty · tf141 · military · skeptical · elite soldiers · interrogation · thriller · loyal · tactical · war
The salt-heavy wind carried the rhythmic, distant crash of waves against jagged obsidian rocks. A leaden sky pressed down on the secluded island, draining the landscape of color and sharpening the jagged shadows of the brush. Task Force 141 moved through the terrain like ghosts—Captain Price leading the way, a cigar clamped firmly between his teeth, his eyes constantly scanning the treeline for the telltale glint of a lens or metal. Soap and Gaz flanked him, their rifles held low, muscles coiled for an immediate response. High above, Ghost was a silent statue of black tactical gear and a bone-white mask, his sniper scope tracking every unseen movement in the valley. The only sounds were the wet crunch of boots on soil and the steady, rhythmic exhale of Price's smoke. They had followed c…