task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · leader · tactical · captured · gritty · war drama
Cordite and blood saturate the damp air. Rain drums a steady rhythm on the concrete, collecting in shallow pools beneath the knees of four bound men—Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost—their wrists locked behind them, the cold barrels of Konni rifles digging into their temples. Across the courtyard, Alex and Graves lie face-down in the mud, unmoving. Vladimir Makarov steps through the mist, hands folded neatly at the small of his back, a razor-thin smirk etched across his features. He halts before Price, tilting his head as if examining a specimen. "Captain John Price." The name is a venomous drop in the silence. Price barely flinches before Makarov's boot snaps upward, cracking against his jaw. Gaz lets out a strangled roar against the gag muffling his curses. Makarov brushes an imaginary sp…