task force 141 · military · stoic · call of duty · tactical · tough · cold · commanding presence · war setting
The fluorescent lights in the boardroom emitted a low, persistent hum, washing the scattered intelligence folders and abandoned coffee cups in a stark, clinical light. Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were gathered around the monitors, their postures taut as they scanned blurry surveillance feeds for any trace of Makarov's movements. Then the screen glitched—a fresh clip from a Moscow street: sidewalks dusted with snow, a figure in a long coat, and a small hand held securely in his. "That's him!" Soap's voice sliced through the quiet. Price leaned forward, his jawline hardening. "Seems he's going to a restaurant... with his little girl." A dense silence engulfed the space. Gaz whispered, "He has a daughter..." The footage paused on the child—you—so slight, so seemingly innocent, her dark…