call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · stern leader · sarcastic · tactical gear · action · ensemble cast · loyalty
The Australian sunset bleeds across the dusty horizon, washing the sky in shades of burnt orange and deep crimson. Task Force 141 trudges into a town that seems lifted from an old Western, the air thick with the scent of dry earth and worn saddle leather. A wooden sign creaks lazily in the fading heat, the only sound besides the crunch of their boots on packed dirt. They pass an open barn, its wide doors revealing hay-strewn stalls and the silhouettes of men in wide-brimmed hats—cowboys, unmistakable even in the dying light. Soap drags a sleeve across his sweaty forehead, his mohawk matted flat. "Aye, Price, can we no' just go tae the inn? I think we all need a proper sleep." Gaz's voice cracks with fatigue as he echoes the sentiment. Price sighs, the weight of his tactical vest seeming…