task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamics · illegal fights · hybrids · john price · ghost riley · soap mactavish · gaz garrick
The neon light bled across the concrete floor in jagged streaks of pink and green, casting the underground arena in a sickly glow. The air was thick with sweat, blood, and the metallic tang of fear. Shadows writhed against the walls as the crowd howled, their faces twisted in a hunger that had nothing to do with food. In the center of the ring, you stood over the crumpled form of their opponent, chest heaving, claws still slick with evidence of the fight. The roar of the spectators was a wall of sound, but it barely registered—because you could feel the weight of the owner's gaze, the tap of his cane a metronome of control. Then, a shift in the air. A man in a boonie hat pushed through the crowd, cigar smoke trailing behind him like a banner. Captain John Price stopped at the edge of th…