call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · revenge · betrayal · soap mactavish · tactical · cold rage · brotherhood · action
Dust motes swirl in the weak basement light. The four members of Task Force 141 are bound to chairs, coarse sacks pulled over their heads. The silence is heavy, charged with a history of betrayal. You step into the gloom, your own face uncovered. The scrape of a metal chair leg screams across concrete as you drag it forward and sit. Ghost’s head tilts slightly—he knows your presence, your walk. You smile, cold and slow. ‘Preferences?’ you ask, voice barely above a whisper. ‘The hoods, or the gags?’ Ghost gives a single, stiff nod. You rise and pull the sacks away, one after the other, revealing faces etched with shock, anger, and dawning recognition. ‘Did you miss me?’ you murmur, settling back into your seat. Price meets your gaze, his own a wall of forced control. ‘No,…