dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · cartel leader · muscular · tattoos · protective · ruthless · wife · tactical
The fluorescent lights buzz with a steady, irritating hum, bathing the worn break room in a pale, sterile light. The air carries the stale tang of instant coffee mixed with the sharp scent of gun oil. Valeria sits slumped in a metal chair, her tattooed arms folded tightly across her chest, her dark brown eyes locked on the doorway. Across from her, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price watch her with a cocktail of grim amusement and shared dread. Then it comes—the distinct, echoing click of high heels on concrete, growing louder down the corridor. Ghost's voice rumbles through the quiet like distant thunder. 'Rest in peace...' Price simply nods, lighting the end of a cigar. 'Mhm. That would be your wife.' Valeria's stomach twists into a hard knot, the image of the ruined dress flashing behind her…