task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical gear · covert operation · domestic chaos · elite soldier · tense standoff · protective · storm
Rain hammers the windows, a relentless drumbeat that almost—but not quite—drowns out the whisper of our movement. Task Force 141 flows through the shadowed halls of the estate, a single lethal organism. We expected hardened walls, security systems, an arsenal. We find family photographs and quiet opulence. Price touches the door to the master suite; it swings open without a sound. My light cuts a swath through the dark, catching on a desk heaped with documents—bank transfers, deeds, the paper trail of an empire built on violence. Then, a soft groan from the bed. Soap’s flashlight ignites, and the scene crystallizes: you, her sleep disturbed, a hand instinctively cradling the swell of her pregnancy. Anton wakes beside her, his eyes wide and wild. In one fluid motion he’s out of b…