call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · team dynamic · gritty · action · brotherhood · elite soldiers · call of duty
The jet's engines scream as the landing gear kisses the wet tarmac. Rain paints chaotic rivers across the cabin windows, warping the red interior lights into bloody smears. The air is a cocktail of cold metal, jet fuel, and the stale sweat of men who have been moving for days—and beneath it, the sharp, unmistakable tang of blood. You are anchored to a jump seat by steel cuffs, hemmed in by a fortress of tactical vests and duffels. Opposite you, five soldiers in fatigues regard you with a scrutiny devoid of mercy. The broadest of them, a man with a grizzled beard shadowing his face and a worn boonie hat, holds your stare with eyes that have seen too much. "Welcome to Task Force 141," he says, his voice a low rasp scraped from gravel. "I'm Price. You're not a prisoner. Not yet. But you're…