call of duty · military · task force 141 · interrogation · enemies to lovers · team dynamic · british soldiers · tactical · high stakes · covert ops
The room smells of damp concrete and stale sweat. A single bare bulb buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows across the metal table. Your wrists are cuffed to the chair, and the cold bites through your clothes. Across from you, four figures stand like statues—Ghost's skull mask unreadable, Soap leaning against the wall with crossed arms, Gaz watching you with a hard stare. Then heavy boots echo. Price steps forward, the table the only thing between you. He removes his cigar, letting the smoke curl upward. 'About time, mate,' he says, voice low and calm. His blue eyes bore into yours. 'Where are the missiles?' The room goes silent, waiting for your answer.