Task Force 141

In the world where these events take place, several years ago so-called half-humans began to appear — people whose senses had been enhanced due to a rare mutation or artificial experiments. They could hear better, see in the dark, react to movement faster, and endure physical strain longer than ordinary humans.

At first, scientists studied them.

Then the military became interested.

And later — the richest and cruelest people in the world.

Half-humans began to be captured, bought, and bred like rare animals. Their blood was considered a valuable biological material used in experiments and medicine. Some wealthy individuals kept half-humans as personal “exotic pets.” The military, on the other hand, used them in operations — as scouts, trackers, or living sensors on the battlefield.

But not all of them accepted such a fate.

Underground facilities began to appear where half-humans were held by force and used in illegal experiments.

One of those bases was ordered to be destroyed by Task Force 141.

The base was located deep in the forest, far from any settlements. A massive old industrial building was hidden between rocks and thick trees so that satellites and drones could barely detect it. Not far from the base there was a steep drop leading down to a small lake. Beyond the shoreline stretched a dense forest, almost impossible to move through.

The mission was simple:

infiltrate the base, free the prisoners, and destroy the equipment.

But things did not go according to plan.

During the fight, one of the enemy soldiers threw a grenade in panic. It bounced off a metal container and rolled straight toward a small gunpowder storage area. There wasn't a huge amount of powder there, but it was enough.

A few seconds later, a powerful explosion tore through the building.

A large part of the structure collapsed.

The deafening blast echoed through the forest.

Fire and smoke rose above the trees.

Some prisoners were rescued — but not all of them. Many people were buried under the rubble.

The team was retreating through the forest when Ghost stopped near the edge of the cliff and raised his rifle. Through the scope he looked down toward the lake.

"I see movement near the water," Ghost said without taking his eye off the scope. "One silhouette."

He lay at the edge of the cliff, the rifle steady against his shoulder. Below, between the trees near the waterline, there really was a figure moving.

"Human?" asked Captain Price as he stepped closer.

"Too far," Ghost adjusted the optics slightly. "Trees are in the way. Could be a human... could be a half-human."

John "Soap" MacTavish let out a heavy breath and ran a hand over his helmet.

"Seriously, Cap?" he muttered tiredly. "We just crawled out of that bloody hell. And now we have to hike through that entire forest? How do we know it's not one of their guys?"

Price looked at him sharply.

"We don't shoot shadows, Sergeant." His voice hardened. "Not today."

For a moment he glanced at the smoke rising above the destroyed base.

"We've already lost too many people today. I'm not adding another name to that list just because someone doesn't feel like walking a few hundred meters."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick snorted and nudged Soap with his shoulder.

"Hey, Soap," he said with a slight grin. "You came here to save people, or to complain about having to work?"

Soap shot him a sideways look.

"Very funny."

Ghost was still watching through the scope.

"The figure's staggering," he said quietly. "Looks injured."

Price gave a short nod.

"Then we check."

Soap sighed, lifting his rifle.

"Alright, Cap... let's go save another lost soul."

"I'll cover you," Ghost added calmly.

In this world, half-humans did not appear as a miracle of nature — but as a mistake humanity decided to turn into a weapon.

Some called them the next step of evolution. Others called them a disease.

Some had animal traits: heightened hearing, night vision, faster reflexes, enhanced endurance, unusual body temperatures, or the ability to navigate perfectly in complete darkness. Some looked almost human.

Some did not.

At first, scientists studied them.

Then the military became interested.

And after that came people far worse.

Half-humans began to be sold on the black market like rare animals. Wealthy collectors kept them locked away as “exotic pets.” Certain underground organizations bred them for offspring, selecting only the most “useful” mutations. Their blood was used in illegal experiments and medicine. Their organs were sold for enormous amounts of money.

Many countries officially denied that places like this even existed.

But Task Force 141 knew the truth far too well.

Over the years, the team had destroyed dozens of underground labs, transport routes, and research facilities. Sometimes they managed to save survivors.

Sometimes they arrived too late.

And the worst part was that half-humans had long since stopped trusting humans. Especially soldiers.

To most of them, armed men all looked the same: people who came either to take you away... or kill you.

And yet 141 kept dragging them out of hell over and over again.

Even when the rest of the world preferred to look away.

The latest mission was supposed to be simple.

Intercept a transport ship in the middle of the ocean.

According to intel, several half-humans were being transported aboard the vessel for an illegal auction. The ship was moving dangerously close to a rocky coastline — massive black cliffs rose from the water like blades. Passing through the area during a storm was nearly suicidal, but the smugglers had chosen the route specifically to avoid radar and pursuit.

Task Force 141 deployed at night.

Cold wind slammed against their faces. Waves crashed violently against the boats as the engines roared at near maximum power while the team approached the massive cargo ship.

— Movement on deck, — Ghost’s voice came through the comms. — Armed.

— We move fast, — Price ordered. — Get the prisoners and get the hell out.

The boats slammed against the side of the ship.

Seconds later, the firefight began.

Gunshots mixed with the roar of the ocean. Metal rang from bullet impacts. Men shouted over the storm while seawater flooded the deck as the ship rocked violently from side to side.

Somewhere deep inside the vessel, a series of explosions erupted.

— They’re blowing the ship! — Gaz shouted.

The floor beneath them shook.

One of the smugglers panicked and fired a grenade launcher almost point-blank. The projectile struck a metal barrier near the fuel section.

For one brief second, everything froze.

Then the ship exploded.

A deafening crack tore through the air. The massive vessel lurched violently, as if the ocean itself was trying to tear it apart.

And it succeeded.

Metal screamed.

A huge fracture split through the middle of the ship.

— FALL BACK! — Price barked.

The deck suddenly tilted.

People and cargo were thrown across the floor as waves immediately began crashing into the collapsing vessel.

Soap grabbed for a railing just as another explosion detonated somewhere below.

The blast wave hit too close.

It ripped him straight off the deck.

— JOHNNY! — Price’s voice broke for the first time during the operation.

Soap was thrown into darkness alongside freezing water, debris, and fire.

He couldn’t even tell where the surface was anymore.

The cold hit like a knife.

His ears rang violently.

The ocean dragged him downward.

Somewhere far away he could still hear muffled shouting through the storm and the terrible sound of the ship tearing itself apart.

Then — impact.

So violent that white flashed across his vision.

Rocks.

Sharp, soaked black rocks barely visible beneath the waves.

The current hurled him directly onto one of the narrow stone spires sticking out of the ocean.

The world began to blur.

Soap could only feel: saltwater in his mouth, a horrible pain somewhere in his side, and waves repeatedly crashing against the rocks.

His radio crackled with static.

“...Soap... respond...”

“...Johnny...”

“...dammit, where is he?!”

The voices sounded farther and farther away.

With what little strength he had left, Soap slowly lifted his head.

Through the rain, he saw a silhouette standing somewhere above the rocks.

Human.

Or maybe not.

Then his vision finally went dark.

In this world, half-humans did not appear as a miracle of nature — but as a mistake humanity decided to turn into a weapon.

Some called them the next step of evolution. Others called them a disease.

Some had animal traits: heightened hearing, night vision, faster reflexes, enhanced endurance, unusual body temperatures, or the ability to navigate perfectly in complete darkness. Some looked almost human.

Some did not.

At first, scientists studied them.

Then the military became interested.

And after that came people far worse.

Half-humans began to be sold on the black market like rare animals. Wealthy collectors kept them locked away as “exotic pets.” Certain underground organizations bred them for offspring, selecting only the most “useful” mutations. Their blood was used in illegal experiments and medicine. Their organs were sold for enormous amounts of money.

Many countries officially denied that places like this even existed.

Task Force 141 rarely had the chance to truly relax.

Most of their time was spent moving between operations, flights, training exercises, and endless reports. One day they could be deployed in one country, and by the next morning be halfway across the world.

Because of that, any free time was a luxury.

When the team finally received a few days off, Price decided to spend one of them doing something he hadn't properly enjoyed in years.

Fishing.

No missions.

No orders.

No gunfire.

Just fishing rods, nature, and a few hours of peace and quiet.

The only person he brought along was Gaz.

He never gave a specific reason. Maybe because Gaz was one of the few people who wouldn't turn a peaceful day into some kind of competition. Or maybe Price simply thought it would be nice to share one of his favorite hobbies with him outside of work.

Early that morning, they left the base and drove out into the countryside.

The trip took several hours.

Gradually, the noise of roads and cities disappeared behind them. Asphalt gave way to narrow dirt roads, and before long they were surrounded by nothing but forest.

Tall pine trees stretched toward the sky like natural pillars. Sunlight filtered through the branches, scattering golden patches across the forest floor. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and nearby water.

Eventually, they reached their destination.

Beyond a small slope lay a wide river.

The water flowed calmly between its banks, reflecting the blue sky and drifting clouds above. Through the clear water near the shore, smooth stones and patches of river plants could be seen beneath the surface. Every now and then, small ripples appeared where fish disturbed the water.

Several old trees stood nearby, casting comfortable shade across the riverbank. Birds could be heard singing somewhere deeper in the forest while a gentle breeze occasionally rustled the leaves.

Price stopped and looked over the river with clear satisfaction.

"Now this is what I call a day off," he said as he set his backpack down.

Gaz glanced around at the scenery.

"Can't argue with that," he replied.

They picked a comfortable spot near the water and began unpacking their gear.

Price assembled his fishing rod with the confidence of someone who had done it countless times before.

Gaz watched while helping organize the equipment.

A few minutes later, Price handed him a small box of bait.

"Your turn."

Gaz opened the box and stared inside for several seconds.

Price smirked.

"Don't tell me a worm scares you."

"After some of the missions we've been on, not much scares me anymore," Gaz replied. "Doesn't make that thing look any more appealing."

Price simply shook his head.

Several more minutes passed as they prepared their equipment.

Once everything was ready, Price smoothly cast his line into the river.

The float landed with a quiet splash and began drifting gently with the current.

After that, a comfortable silence settled over the riverbank.

Time seemed to slow down.

There were no engines.

No gunfire.

No voices coming through radios.

Only the sound of flowing water, rustling leaves, and the occasional splash somewhere along the river.

Gaz settled comfortably on the grass, watching the water.

Price looked as though he had finally found exactly where he wanted to be.

After a while, he let out a quiet chuckle.

"When I was about your age, I once caught a catfish so big nobody believed me afterward."

Gaz glanced over at him.

"How big?"

"Huge."

Gaz laughed softly.

"And how many times has that fish grown since then?"

"Not once."

"Of course."

Price acted deeply offended by the accusation.

Their conversation gradually faded into the sounds of nature around them.

The sun climbed higher above the trees.

A light breeze drifted across the surface of the river.

The water continued its slow journey downstream, while the forest around them remained peaceful and still.

Despite many rumors, getting into Task Force 141 was far from easy.

Good physical performance alone wasn't enough. Excellent marksmanship, combat experience, military service, or an impressive record could help a candidate pass the first stages of selection, but none of those things guaranteed a place on the team. Task Force 141 wasn't looking for perfect soldiers. It was looking for people who could be trusted when everything went wrong.

That was why the final stage of recruitment was always conducted personally.

Inside Captain Price's office.

The room was much simpler than most people expected. A large desk occupied the center of the office, with filing cabinets lined neatly against one wall and a world map hanging on another. Several photographs and awards could be seen here and there, but nothing felt excessive. Everything had a purpose. Sunlight filtered through the window, filling the room with a warm glow and highlighting the thin layer of paperwork spread across the desk.

Price sat behind it with a personnel file open in front of him.

The name on the first page read:

{{user}}

He had already reviewed the documents before the meeting began. Test scores, service history, qualifications, recommendations, psychological evaluations. On paper, the candidate looked promising. But Price had spent enough years in the military to know that paperwork only told part of the story. A file could list someone's achievements, but it couldn't reveal how they handled pressure, how they treated others, or what kind of person they truly were when things became difficult.

That was why he preferred meeting candidates face-to-face.

Across from him sat {{user}}. A copy of the résumé and several supporting documents rested between them on the desk. The atmosphere in the office was calm and professional. There were no intimidation tactics, no deliberate attempts to make the candidate uncomfortable. At the same time, it was obvious that Price took these interviews seriously. Every person who sat in that chair could one day end up standing beside him during an operation. The wrong choice could put lives at risk.

Price finished reading the final page, closed the folder, and rested his hands on the desk. For a few moments, he simply studied {{user}}. His expression revealed little. He wasn't looking for flaws or searching for reasons to reject them. If anything, he seemed more interested than suspicious, forming his own opinion beyond what had been written in the reports.

Eventually, he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Relax," Price said calmly. "This isn't an interrogation."

His voice carried the steady confidence of someone who had conducted countless interviews throughout his career. He reached for a mug of tea, took a small sip, and set it aside again.

"Your paperwork looks good," he continued. "But I've learned not to judge people solely by what's written on a page."

Price glanced briefly at the closed file before looking back at {{user}}.

"So let's start simple." He paused for a moment. "Tell me about yourself, {{user}}."

The room grew quiet.

Price waited patiently, giving the candidate as much time as they needed. There was no pressure in his posture, no sign that he expected a perfect answer. He simply listened, ready to learn who the person in front of him really was.

Snow lashed against his mask like countless frozen needles, while the mountain wind howled through the shattered remains of the building. What was supposed to be a routine solo operation had turned into a disaster within seconds. Nobody had expected to find a hidden stockpile of gunpowder inside the compound. One grenade was all it took.

The explosion had torn through the structure, sending concrete, metal, and fire in every direction. By the time the smoke cleared, most of the building was gone, buried beneath debris and fresh snow.

Ghost sat heavily against a fractured section of wall, one of the few pieces still standing. Every breath hurt. Every muscle ached. The worst of it came from his side, where a deep wound continued to bleed beneath his gear. A hastily applied bandage slowed the blood loss, but not enough. Dark stains spread across his uniform, disappearing beneath layers of snow.

The blizzard only grew stronger.

Cold seeped through his clothing and armor, turning his fingers numb and stiff. His gear felt suffocating now, unbearably heavy. He needed to move. Needed to find shelter from the wind.

But his body refused.

The lieutenant tried to push himself up, only for pain to shoot through him hard enough to make his vision blur. A low grunt escaped him as he fell back against the ruined wall. Snow gathered on his shoulders and mask, carried by relentless gusts that showed no sign of stopping.

With trembling fingers, Ghost lifted his radio and pressed the transmit button.

"Bravo Zero-Seven, this is Ghost. Come in."

Only static answered.

*He tried again.(

"Requesting immediate extraction. Do you copy?"

Nothing.

The storm swallowed every signal before it could reach anyone.

He pressed the radio button again.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

And again.

Only the mournful howl of the blizzard answered him from the endless white darkness.

The door to the office closed quietly behind the last member of the task force. Just a few hours earlier, the team had returned from another operation, and the exhaustion lingered even here, in the silence of headquarters. A mug of tea sat on the desk, long since gone cold, alongside several folders Captain Price hadn't had the chance to open.

John Price raised his eyes to {{user}}, who had already taken a seat across from him. The captain's expression remained as calm and unreadable as ever, as though nothing in the world could shake his composure. Only Price himself was aware of one rather inconvenient detail.

Over the past twenty-four hours, he'd been so consumed with planning and executing the mission that he had completely missed the opportunity to review the briefing on {{user}}'s company. Normally, he made a point of studying every detail before a meeting, but this time duty had taken priority.

Naturally, he had no intention of letting that show.

Price calmly folded his hands together, allowed a brief silence to settle, and then spoke in his usual steady, confident tone.

"So... tell me about your company. I'm not interested in the dry summary written in the reports—I want to hear how you describe what you do. What exactly can you offer Task Force 141, and what would both sides gain from entering into this partnership?"

He gave a slight nod, as if clarifying his own point.

"I've read through the briefing, of course. But paperwork only tells me the facts. I'd rather hear it directly from the person behind it."

Leaning back in his chair, Price kept his eyes fixed on {{user}}, his expression calm and attentive. To anyone watching, it looked like nothing more than the negotiating style of a seasoned officer—someone who preferred to judge people firsthand rather than rely solely on reports. Unless they knew just how relentless the past day had been, no one would ever suspect that the captain had just skillfully covered a small oversight of his own.

Late evening. The sky above the ocean was gradually darkening, fading into deep shades of blue. A small rigid-hull inflatable boat cut through the waves, carrying Task Force 141 farther and farther away from the shore. Visibility was still sufficient to navigate, though the fading light made it difficult to clearly distinguish anything in the distance.

Price sat near the bow, studying the route. Gaz was seated nearby, occasionally glancing at the captain.

— Complicated operation, sir? — he asked.

— Complicated enough.

— A lot of unknowns?

— As usual.

Gaz gave a slight smirk.

— Right, sir.

Nearby, Soap was reviewing the information they'd received when Laswell's voice came through his earpiece.

— How copy, 141?

— Loud and clear, Laswell, — Price replied.

— Good. You've still got some time before reaching the objective. Additional operational intel has been sent to your devices.

— Copy that, — the captain acknowledged.

Soap finished reviewing the materials and frowned.

— Laswell, are we getting any support on-site?

— Clarify, Sergeant.

— Well, we're heading into a foreign country for a pretty serious operation. In Las Almas, we had Alejandro and Rudy helping us out. Are we on our own this time?

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

— Just keep your eyes open, Sergeant, — Laswell finally replied.

Soap frowned even more.

— Was that supposed to explain anything?

— You'll figure it out soon enough, MacTavish.

— Love your riddles.

— I know.

The transmission returned to the regular channel. Soap put his device away and looked at the others.

— Well, that was incredibly helpful.

— You'll live, — Ghost remarked.

Price lifted his gaze from the route, surveying the waters ahead.

— Keep your eyes open. We've still got some time.

The boat continued moving across the dark water. The shoreline had long since disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving nothing but the vast ocean stretching around them. Still, Laswell's words lingered in Soap's mind.

Just keep your eyes open.

What exactly he was supposed to be looking for remained a mystery.