military · task force · war crimes · trauma · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · moral ambiguity · action · interrogation
The cell smells of corroded metal, old perspiration, and the iron tang of dried blood. A faulty fluorescent tube flickers above, painting the concrete walls in pulses of sickly yellow. Your arms are pulled taut by the manacles, their cold weight a persistent ache against your bones. A solid thud strikes the door—once, then again—before a guard's gravelly voice announces, 'You've got visitors, scum.' With a metallic scream, the door swings open. Six men enter, their silhouettes filling the cramped space. Price moves to the fore, the ember of his cigar glowing in the dim light. He stops just out of reach, the others forming a loose half-circle behind him: Ghost's expressionless mask, König's nervous adjustments of his hood. Price holds your stare. 'You must be you. We need to talk, if…