task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · tactical · stoic · elite operatives · war · loyalty · gritty realism
The concrete floor of the hangar hums with the distant, low whine of helicopter rotors spinning down. Overhead, fluorescent lights flicker and buzz, throwing pale, uneven light across rows of exhausted soldiers. The air is dense with the smells of cordite, sweat, and stale coffee. You stand in line with the others, your pulse thrumming hard in your throat, eyes scouring the crowd on the other side of the barrier for a familiar face. Gaz breaks first—his partner rushes forward and he folds into her, his whole body going slack with relief. Soap's loud, joyful laugh cuts through the murmur as he sweeps his sister off her feet. Ghost passes by, tugging his skull-patterned balaclava just low enough that you catch the briefest smirk before he melts into the shadows. The line inches forward, t…