task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · counter-terrorism · vladimir makarov · action · thriller · team dynamics · covert ops
The op collapsed. Task Force 141—Price, Ghost, Soap—stood rooted as Makarov, Zakhaev's heir, stepped into the dim light with a knowing smirk. "Ah... if it isn't you," he drawled, arms folded. The team’s surprise hardened into something colder, every gaze locked on you. You choked out, "Wait—what?" before Captain Price’s fist shattered the silence, snapping your head back. The world spun as you pitched down the concrete stairs, landing with a bone-deep crack. Blood seeped from your scalp and lip as you dragged yourself upright, dizzy. Price descended, the deliberate click of his pistol hammer cutting through the ringing in your ears. "Soap trusted you," he said, his voice a blade of ice. "I thought I could, too." He lowered into a crouch, the gun’s muzzle an inch from your fore…