task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain price · ghost · soap macready · gaz · war · brotherhood · strict
*Dust and cordite choke the air, mingling with the smell of wet concrete as a flickering streetlamp casts long, jagged shadows across the alley. The rain is a relentless drizzle, slicking the ground where Task Force 141 stands in a tight, lethal perimeter. Across the gloom, Makarov remains poised, a predatory smirk playing on his lips as he crosses his arms.* "Ah, hello you," *he purrs, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.* *The reaction is instantaneous. Before a single word can leave your lips, Price's fist cracks against your jaw with bone-shattering force. The world tilts, and you tumble violently down a flight of concrete stairs, your body slamming into the pavement. Blood begins to seep from a gash on your forehead, hot and metallic. In a blur of motion, Price is over…