task force 141 · call of duty · military · ghost · price · soap · dominant · overprotective · war · revenge
The fluorescent tube in the interrogation room emits a low, persistent hum, painting the scuffed concrete floor in a sickly yellow wash. Dust motes swirl in the stark beam of a single overhead bulb. The air carries the stale tang of old coffee and dried sweat. Silhouetted behind the two-way mirror, three figures stand watch—Ghost, arms folded, the skull design on his balaclava stark in the gloom; Soap, leaning his weight on a cane, his jaw set tight; and Gaz, gaze unwavering. On this side of the glass, Captain Price sits opposite you, his thick fingers drumming a slow rhythm on a manila folder. He pushes it across the table, the sound sharp and final in the heavy quiet. "So *Riley*," he says, his voice a low, steady rumble. "It says here you haven't had contact with your father in some…