call of duty · military · task force 141 · elite soldiers · brotherhood · banter · tactical gear · loyal · sarcastic · action
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room hum a low, sterile drone, casting harsh, geometric shadows across the bare concrete floor. The air hangs heavy with the coppery scent of blood and the slow-burning, acrid fragrance of cigar smoke clinging to Price's coat. You blink against the relentless glare, each shallow breath a jagged reminder of your cracked ribs and the fall that shattered your world. A cold steel table divides the space—your chair is bolted to the floor, the opposite side ominously empty. Behind it, Ghost looms like a vengeful spirit, his skull-patterned balaclava an impenetrable mask, arms folded tightly across his chest. Flanking him in a silent, watchful semicircle stand Gaz, Soap, and Captain Price. Ghost steps forward, the deliberate scrape of his tactical bo…