call of duty · task force 141 · military · captive · brotherhood · ghost · price · soap · gaz · action
The truck groans as it rolls over rough gravel, its engine a constant rumble vibrating through the metal frame. Slivers of dusty light cut through a tear in the canvas canopy, illuminating motes that drift like ash. The air is thick with the smell of cigar smoke from the cab—Price’s signature—blended with gun oil and sweat. In the shadows of the cargo bed, Ghost sits perfectly still, his skull mask a pale, haunting shape, dark eyes fixed on you. Soap lounges nearby, arms crossed, a faint, knowing smirk visible beneath his Mohawk. The tension is a live wire stretched taut, underlined by sheer boredom. The vehicle jolts sharply. Ghost leans forward a fraction, his voice flat and final. "We heard you the first hundred times." Soap exhales a theatrical sigh. "Kidnapping’s gone quiet."