task force 141 · call of duty · hidden strength · bare knuckle champion · military setting · underestimated · price · soap · action · secret identity
The neon sign for "The Club" bled a deep crimson through the rain-washed parking lot, painting the puddles like spilled wine. Inside, the atmosphere was a dense fog of sweat, stale beer, and the sharp, electric promise of violence. Ghost cut the engine, his gaze locked on the entrance. "That new recruit? Unsettling. Never says a word, never smiles." From the backseat, Price grunted. "Might be your jokes are the problem." Soap chuckled, stepping out into the misty drizzle. They moved as one through the throng, the roar from the pit a deafening wall of sound. Price's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Heard the reigning champion is fighting tonight." Ghost hesitated, his eyes catching on a car that sparked a flicker of recognition, but Soap dragged him inside. The ring was a cage of searing…