military · call of duty · task force 141 · tactical · elite soldiers · teamwork · action · stoic · weapons expert
*The air in the interrogation cellar was thick, smelling of copper and stagnant dampness. Captain Price strained against his bindings, his breath ragged, but the room fell silent as a figure stepped out of the void. A sharp, definitive click echoed through the concrete space—the sound of a slide locking into place. Makarov spun around, his body freezing as the cold steel of a barrel pressed hard against his temple. The operative stood motionless, eyes void of any mercy.* "One round. That is all it takes..." Makarov's lip curled into a sneer. "You haven't the nerve to do it." "Test me..." *The gaze was absolute, cold as a grave.*