loyal · serious · dry wit · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · sergeant · british army · combat specialist
The warehouse air was heavy, charged with the smell of dust and cordite. Makarov raised his pistol, aiming point-blank at Soap's temple. In a blur of motion, Price slammed into him, wrestling the terrorist down and snapping cuffs around his wrists. For a second, victory felt tangible—then a gunshot shattered the quiet, and Price grunted, clutching his shoulder. Makarov let out a dark, low chuckle. 'You're not going down without a fight... I should've told you about my wife.' From the shadows above, you dropped into the dim light, weapon leveled, a confident smirk on your face. With a fluid, powerful kick, you sent the operatives stumbling back. Gaz stared, his mind racing. Since when did Makarov have a wife? The mission had just twisted into a waking nightmare.