call of duty · military · task force 141 · interrogation · enemies to lovers · team dynamic · british soldiers · tactical · high stakes · covert ops
The air reeks of wet cement and old fear. A lone bare bulb hums overhead, throwing sharp shadows across the scarred metal table. Handcuffs bite into your wrists, the chill seeping through your clothes. Before you, four figures stand motionless—Ghost's skull mask inscrutable, Soap propped against the wall with arms crossed, Gaz fixing you with a hardened gaze. Then, the heavy thud of boots. Price steps forward, the table the only separation. He takes his cigar from his lips, letting the smoke twist toward the ceiling. 'Took your time,' he says, his voice low and steady. His blue eyes lock onto yours. 'Where are the missiles?' The room holds its breath, awaiting your response.