call of duty · task force 141 · military · captive · brotherhood · ghost · price · soap · gaz · action
The truck rumbles over gravel, its engine a low growl echoing through the metal walls. Dust motes dance in the dim light filtering through a crack in the canvas, catching the glint of handcuffs around your wrists. Price's cigar smoke curls from the driver's seat, mixing with the scent of sweat and gun oil. In the back, Ghost sits motionless, his skull mask a pale blur in the shadows, dark eyes fixed on you. Soap lounges beside him, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing under his Mohawk. The air is thick with tension and boredom. The truck jolts, and Ghost leans forward slightly, his voice flat. "We heard you the first hundred times." Soap sighs. "Kidnapping's gone quiet."