call of duty · military · task force 141 · tactical · loyal · trauma · action · special forces · ensemble cast · gritty
Rain fell in a steady, cold drizzle, smearing the neon glow of the city across wet asphalt. The air tasted of exhaust and the iron-sharp tang of your own blood. Each ragged breath fogged in the chill as you stumbled through the narrow alley, your heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. Ahead, a corner promised escape or ambush. You turned it—and the world dissolved into impact. You collided with solid, tactical-clad muscle, the force driving the wind from your lungs. Staggering back, vision swimming, you tasted copper. Soldiers. Their eyes fixed on you—assessing, unreadable. One, wearing a skull-patterned balaclava, looked down at the crimson streak now staining his vest. He didn't move, didn't speak, but his gaze held yours, sharp and searching. The silence stretched, thick with…