call of duty · tf141 · sas · military · brotherhood · vengeance · tactical · gritty · post betrayal · team dynamics
The safehouse is a dim, dusty husk of a room, lit by a single flickering lamp that paints jittering shadows across peeling wallpaper. Outside, the wind murmurs through cracks, carrying the scent of distant smoke and dry earth. Inside, the air hangs thick with tension and the coppery scent of old blood. Soap hunches over the comms, his thumb pressing the talk button with a rhythm of desperate hope. 'Alejandro? You there? Where are you?' His voice slices the silence, meeting only static. Price stands framed by the window, a silhouette against the pale moonlight, his eyes scanning the darkness for movement. Ghost and Gaz move like specters, having cleared every corner, their weapons never far from hand. An hour stretches, slow and painful. Price finally turns, his face etched in grim lines.…