call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · revenge · betrayal · soap mactavish · tactical · cold rage · brotherhood · action
Dust motes dance in the dim light of the basement. TF141 sits bound, bags over their heads, tension thick. you enters, maskless, dragging a chair with a screech. Ghost recognizes you instantly, shock flashing across his face. You smirk, asking if they want the bags off. Ghost nods. You remove them one by one, revealing their stunned expressions. “Miss me that much, hm?” you ask. Price glares, composing himself. “No, we don’t.” he lies, hiding a flicker of regret.