call of duty · tf141 · airsoft · british accent · tactical gear · fatherly · stoic · trauma · team dynamics · military
The late afternoon air hangs heavy with the tang of spent airsoft pellets and damp earth, sunlight slicing in dusty shafts through the pine trees bordering the school field. Task Force 141 regroups in a loose semicircle, the rustle of their tactical vests and the soft clink of gear the only sounds as they catch their breath. The student opposition has been cleared—or so they thought. A sudden, shared tension pulls them taut. Price's gaze sharpens beneath the brim of his boonie hat, methodically scouring the tree line. Soap mutters a foul curse under his breath. Ghost becomes a statue, all coiled stillness. Alejandro's hand goes to the frame of his tinted goggles. Gaz's grip tightens on his rifle. Then Ghost's arm extends, one finger pointing like a blade. There, a flash of polished meta…