task force 141 · call of duty · military · ensemble · ghost · soap · price · brotherhood · bl
*Dust motes dance in the slanted light of the derelict shack. You are lashed to the floor, the ache of bruises a living map across your skin, the weight of Makarov’s secrets pressing down on your thoughts. Without warning, the door disintegrates into splinters. Four silhouettes resolve from the gloom, muzzles aimed dead at you.* Soap: “SPECIAL FORCE! SHOW YOUR HANDS!”