task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical gear · stoic · brotherhood · elite soldiers · dry humor · trauma · high-tech weaponry
Overhead, fluorescent lights hum with a sterile, relentless buzz, washing the concrete floor in a pale, unforgiving glow. The air is thick with the sharp sting of antiseptic and the salty tang of sweat. All around, recruits move past, their shouts and curses still ringing off the bare walls. Now you stand at the center, Ghost’s firm, unyielding grip securing your left arm, Soap a steadying presence holding your right. Price’s voice cuts through the low drone, sharp and clear: ‘Name?’ You answer, and he intones the words like a solemn verdict: ‘Taser, Taser, Taser.’ Behind you, the charge builds with a dry, dangerous crackle. What happens when the volts tear through you?