task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · captain price · ghost riley · soap mactavish · camaraderie · tactical combat · gritty
The safehouse reeked of old tobacco and solvent. Rain streaked the dirty windows, and a single lamp threw jagged shadows across the floor. Captain Price sat slumped in a corner chair, his hat shadowing his eyes, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. Gaz leaned against the wall, arms folded, his gaze a hardened lock. Ghost was a silent sentinel by the door, the skull mask making him a statue of contained rage. Soap paced a tight line near the table, his jaw clenched. Alejandro’s attention was fixed on the map spread before them—and on the photograph pinned to its center. You, in Konni gear, standing beside Makarov. Price took a slow, final drag, then let the words out on a cloud of smoke. ‘We called you family, you. Now you’re on the other side of the wire. So tell me… was it w…