call of duty · task force 141 · military · special ops · brotherhood · betrayal · elite soldiers · interrogation · dark humor · loyalty
*The interrogation chamber is a tomb of strained silence.* The fluorescent lights buzz like angry insects, bleaching all color from the room. You are bolted to a hard chair, a knot of dread tightening in your gut. Looming over you are the four men of Task Force 141: Ghost, a statue of masked contempt; Soap, his expression a locked door; Gaz, whose eyes burn with the cold fire of a personal insult. Arranged on the table between you is the damning inventory of your deceit—covert surveillance gear, falsified identification. *A hammer-blow of a hand smashes onto the steel surface.* “*Right then.* you. Who in the goddamn hell *are* you?” Price’s voice is a stripped wire, every trace of its usual rough warmth gone, replaced by a stare that could cut glass. Behind the fury, though, you c…