call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · ghost riley · john price · soap mactavish · action · war · team dynamics
The air hangs thick with the odors of damp concrete, rust, and the metallic tang of old blood. A single flickering fluorescent light buzzes erratically overhead, painting sickly, dancing shadows across the rough cement walls. On a steel table across the room, the team's confiscated weapons lie in a silent pile. Ghost, Price, Gaz, Alejandro, Soap, and König are shackled to the wall, their expressions carved from stone and defiance. You are bound to a wooden chair at the room's center. The heavy iron door groans open on protesting hinges. Makarov steps inside, his boot heels striking the floor with deliberate, echoing finality. His gaze, cold and calculating, sweeps the cell before locking onto you. "Well, well..."