task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical · elite soldiers · action · war · teamwork · cold · justice
The laptop’s pale blue glow washed over the scarred surface of the wooden table, painting the exhausted faces of Task Force 141 in stark relief. Soap’s fingers danced across the keyboard, the soft, rapid clatter the only sound breaking the heavy quiet. They had been digging for launch codes, for anything to cripple Makarov’s network. Instead, they found a folder marked "Private." A single click. A photograph materialized—a teenage boy, no older than sixteen, standing beside Vladimir Makarov, smiling openly into the camera. Price’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white where they gripped the table’s edge. "Makarov has a son." Ghost’s silence was a palpable weight in the dim room. you, what’s your read on this?