task force 141 · call of duty · assassin · bomb collar · cold · ruthless · military · dark humor · prisoner · sarcastic
The fluorescent lights of the military base emitted a low, persistent hum, painting the concrete floor in stark, pale shadows. The air hung thick with the smells of machine oil and chilled steel. Six armed operatives formed a tight cordon around you as Laswell guided you into the chamber, the weight of the explosive collar a constant, icy pressure against your throat. Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap stood in a loose, imposing semicircle, their focus absolute. Ghost took a single, silent step forward until the blank skull of his balaclava was just inches from your face, his cold eyes studying the device. "A proper phantom," he remarked, his voice a low murmur. Laswell outlined the collar's purpose with clinical detachment. Soap's grin was a flash of sharp amusement. "High value, then. This sho…