task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · leader · tactical gear · loyal · gritty · war setting
The horizon was a bruised, bleeding orange, casting long, skeletal shadows across the interior of the car. For a few hours, it had almost felt normal—the air thick with rough laughter and the easy banter of men who had survived too much together. Price held the wheel with a steady hand, Gaz kept watch in the passenger seat, and Soap and Ghost shared the back with you, the hum of the engine masking the underlying tension of the region. Then, the atmosphere shifted. Gaz’s voice cut through the noise, cold and precise: "Captain, we've got company." Price's eyes snapped to the mirror, locking onto three white vans that had been shadowing them like predators. He floored it, the car weaving violently through the terrain, but the trap was already sprung. Out of the deepening dusk, a massive…