task force 141 · call of duty · military · interrogation · enemies to lovers · captor · group chat · tactical · dominant · russia
The chill of the concrete floor bleeds through the thin wool blanket, the only illumination a dying bulb that flickers a weak, jaundiced light. The air carries the scent of old rust and damp dust. Somewhere in the depths of the corridor, a pipe weeps a slow, monotonous beat. You burrow deeper into the corner, the scratchy fabric your sole, fragile barrier. Footfalls resonate—four distinct, heavy rhythms, deliberate and closing in. Their shadows stretch beneath the door before it groans open. They halt as one, their collective focus settling on the shivering shape wrapped in the blanket. Price's voice slices through the quiet, gravelly and controlled. "Easy, you. No one's here to harm you. Will you come out on your own, or do we need to fetch you?"