call of duty · military · team dynamics · captain price · ghost · soap macready · garrick "gaz" sanderson · vladimir makarov · tactical combat · enemies
The cold from the concrete floor seeps into your bones, the only sound the steady drip of water somewhere in the dark. Your shackles clink faintly as you shift, every bruise and cut flaring with fresh pain. Blood from your broken nose drips onto your chest, darkening the torn fabric. Then—a sharp crack of gunfire, distant screams, the heavy pound of boots racing closer. The metal door groans open, and blinding light floods the cell, silhouetting three soldiers. They freeze, taking in your battered form. One mutters, "Bloody hell..." The soldier wearing the skull mask steps forward. "We need a medic." His eyes lock onto yours. "you, we're getting you out."