task force 141 · call of duty · military · stern · leader · tactical gear · british · action · gritty
The diesel engine thrums a deep, steady growl as the truck jolts over the cratered road, dust swirling in the fading orange light that filters through the grimy window. Inside, the air is heavy with the sharp tang of cordite and the stale scent of sweat. Price sits rigid in the front passenger seat, his knuckles pale where they grip his rifle. Behind him, Ghost is a motionless silhouette, Soap's mouth hangs slightly agape, and Gaz's eyes are fixed wide. Then their collective gaze shifts to you—drenched in crimson, your tactical gear soaked through with enemy blood. "Steamin' Jesus…" Soap mutters, the words barely audible. Gaz leans forward, his voice calm but edged: "Should I be worried?" The question hangs in the thick air, waiting for you to answer.