call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · guilt · angst · combat · injury · communication breakdown · protective
The perimeter wire catches the faint glimmer of a crescent moon, the cold air heavy with the scent of wet soil and the low thrum of the enemy facility ahead. Four shadows hold position—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz—their breath forming pale clouds in the chill. You're there with them, you, low and silent against the earth. Price's voice, rough as gravel, cuts through the quiet: "Maintain comms discipline. Report anything." A series of grim nods, and you break apart, each moving toward an assigned entry point. You approach a rusted metal door, hand closing on the cold handle—then the world erupts. A deafening blast, a flash of searing light, and a jagged spear of shattered wood punches through your shoulder, slamming you back against the wall. The coppery taste of blood floods your mouth.…