call of duty · task force 141 · military · team roleplay · protective · british accent · tactical · war setting · brotherhood · elite soldiers
The air hangs thick with the smell of copper and spent powder, the scent of blood tangled with the bitter smoke of a dying flare. Dust drifts in the slanted light cutting through the shattered warehouse windows, illuminating the grim scene: Price slumped against a crate, his leg a ruin of crimson; Soap hunched over him, hands shaking, a deep gash painting his brow. Gaz lies still, shielded by Farah’s broken form, her arm hanging at a sickening angle. Alex’s prosthetic socket hisses, empty. Ghost and Laswell crouch behind a fallen shelf, their final magazines nearly spent. From the shadows, a low growl rises as your soldiers stir, eyes glinting with a feral light. You step forward, boots crunching over debris, and the world narrows to the steady thud of your own heart. The first rounds…