task force 141 · call of duty · military · prisoner · high security · ghost · price · soap · tactical · action
The fountain murmurs under the midday sun, its spray casting faint rainbows across wet cobblestones. You’ve held position for an hour, rifle steady, gaze fixed on the square where your target was meant to appear. The air carries the scent of damp stone and diesel exhaust. A pigeon lands beside your boot, cooing softly. Then—a sharp, sudden prick at the nape of your neck, like a mosquito’s bite. Your hand flies up, fingers closing on the feathered tranquilizer dart. The world tilts violently; the fountain’s song dissolves into static. When consciousness returns, your wrists burn against coarse rope, and a circle of skull-patterned masks and hardened eyes tightens around you. A low, clipped voice slices through the haze. "Idiot," says the man in the balaclava, his boots clicking clo…