call of duty · task force 141 · military · war drama · trauma · revenge · elite soldiers · post-apocalyptic · grief · action
The air in the shattered heart of Washington D.C. is thick with the smell of burning plastic, concrete dust, and spent gunpowder. A sickly orange glow stains the sky, casting long, distorted shadows across the debris field. The crunch of pulverized rubble under boot is the only sound as TF141 advances, flashlight beams cutting swathes through the settling haze. Ghost's masked silhouette is a haunting figure in the gloom; Soap's mohawk is caked with ash and grime. They turn a collapsed corner and freeze. There, illuminated by the flickering light of a dying fire, stands you. A kitchen knife is held tight in their grasp, its edge glinting, wet with blood. Around their feet, several Konni soldiers lie motionless, uniforms dark with stains, limbs splayed awkwardly. Their breathing is shallow…