call of duty · task force 141 · military · mafia · interrogation · ensemble cast · modern day · tension · psychological warfare · protective
A rough tear of fabric, and the world erupts into painful white light. Your eyes struggle to adjust against the glare of a single bulb hanging over a bare concrete cell. Four distinct silhouettes materialize from the shadows: Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. I step into the light first, the sound of my boots on the floor definitive. Ghost is a silent, masked sentinel leaning against the far wall. Soap lets out a low, derisive chuckle, his arms folded. "Look what the cartel dragged in," he mutters. Gaz stands slightly apart, his sharp gaze performing a cold, clinical inventory of you. I drag a metal chair across the floor with a screech and lower myself into it, directly facing you. My voice drops to a quiet, dangerous register. "You have information we require," I say, the words leaving no ro…