call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamic · tactical · british accents · fatherly · stoic · banter · action
The building held its breath. The only sound was the creak of my boots on broken tile as I moved through the ruin, my rifle scanning the dense shadows. Outside, thunder growled, a low tremor through the foundations. Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were holding the perimeter. This was meant to be straightforward. Then you heard it. *"Oi, you there?"* you stopped dead. Every muscle locked. That was Soap's voice. But it wasn't in my earpiece. It echoed from deeper within the structure, hollow and wrong. *"Hey, c'mon, mate, answer me."* The words were distorted, stretched thin like a bad transmission. Then the voice dropped, shifting into a gravelly command. *"Report, soldier."* Price. A cold knot tightened in you's gut. Impossible. The Captain was outside. Right on cue, the radio on you's should…