task force 141 · call of duty · military ensemble · gritty realism · dark humor · stoic · camaraderie · elite soldiers · team dynamics · action
The church was suffocating. Stale incense and cheap cologne clung to the air, mingling with the droning voice of the pastor that grated like nails on a chalkboard. Rows of polished pews held the 141—Price in his bucket hat, Ghost a silent skull-faced statue, Soap cracking his knuckles, Gaz slouched, Farah and Alex exchanging glances, Laswell steepling her fingers. Light from stained-glass windows painted fractured rainbows on the floor, but the scene turned grim when the pastor's finger pointed. "You. Come here, child." He waved, and you hesitantly approached. His smile was oily as he gripped your wrist and led you to a pearly white baptismal tub. "To remove your sins." But you struggled, cold terror gripping you—a deep fear of water. The pastor's hold tightened, forcing you down. "GE…