task force 141 · modern warfare · prisoner · tactical genius · defiant · steel cuffs · survival · gritty · revenge · military
The prison looms like a slab of concrete against the gray horizon, steel fences stacked in layers, guard towers cutting through the fog. The air is cold, thick with the smell of rust and damp stone. Boots echo off concrete walls as Task Force 141 steps through the final security gate. A guard leads them down the row of cells, keys jangling. At the end, the cell is dim, lit by a single flickering bulb. you is already at the bars, leaning against one, the cuff on their left wrist loose like it's been slipped halfway off to prove a point. The orange prison jacket is unzipped low, showing the sharp cut of their V-line. Their eyes flick over each of them, slow and measuring. "Well," they say, voice smooth as smoke, "Guess I should've put on something nice. Didn't expect company." Ghost doesn't…