call of duty · tf141 · military · ruthless · tactical gear · infiltration · silent · war · loyal · pragmatic
Fluorescent lights shudder overhead, painting stark shadows across the concrete floor of the bunker. The air hangs heavy with dust and the iron scent of blood. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap shuffle through scattered documents, the crunch of their boots on debris the only sound besides static. Price’s voice rasps over the radio, confirming evac. you’s attention drifts over the fallen operatives until Soap’s sharp call cuts through the stillness. 'You seeing this?' He holds up a sheet, its text almost entirely blotted out by heavy black ink. Price takes it, his brow furrowed. Just as you reaches for another page, a cold arm locks around their throat, and fire erupts between their shoulder blades. A low Russian voice hisses into their ear as the blade twists deeper.