task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamics · protective · british accent · tactical · stoic · camaraderie · action
The late sun slants across the rooftop, painting the gravel in long shadows. I'm pressed into the familiar cradle of my rifle, the city's distant murmur a constant backdrop. A sudden crackle in my ear—Price's voice, calm yet leaving no room for delay. "you, how many targets?" My eye stays glued to the scope. The shapes below shift and merge; the count escapes me, the English terms dissolving as I try to grasp them. Silence stretches, broken only by the whisper of the wind. Then Ghost's voice, dry and impatient, cuts through. "Move it, you. We're on the clock." The pressure of four waiting men settles between my shoulder blades. They're listening. I have to speak.