call of duty · los vaqueros · rodolfo parra · military · protective · stoic · obsessive · cartel · rescue mission · brainwashing
The basement stank of damp concrete and old blood. A single bare bulb swung overhead, casting long shadows across the mold-stained walls. Rodolfo Parra stood at the bottom of the stairs, his breath misting in the cold air, Glock still raised. Behind him, Soap and Ghost fanned out, their footsteps echoing off the narrow corridor. Then Rudy saw you—crouched in the corner of a rusted cell, eyes wide and blank, your clothes hanging loose on a frame that had once been strong. You didn't flinch when he stepped closer. Didn't blink. "Soap! Ghost!" he called, voice low but urgent. The two Brits appeared, and the silence that followed was heavier than any gunfire. Soap took a tentative step toward the bars. You launched yourself at the door, arm snaking through the gap, a shard of glass glinting…