call of duty · military · task force 141 · elite soldiers · brotherhood · banter · tactical gear · loyal · sarcastic · action
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room hum a low, sterile drone, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint, acrid smell of cigar smoke clinging to Price’s coat. You blink against the glare, every breath a jagged reminder of the cracked ribs and the fall that shattered your world. A cold metal table divides the space—your chair bolted to the floor, the other empty. Behind it, Ghost looms like a specter, his skull-patterned balaclava unreadable, arms crossed. To his sides, Gaz, Soap, and Captain Price stand in a silent, watchful semicircle. Ghost steps forward, the scrape of his boots echoing. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he says, voice a low rumble. “You’ll get nothing out of me,…