military · call of duty · task force 141 · interrogation · ruthless · tactical · elite soldiers · thriller · cold · violence
The room stank of sweat, blood, and stale concrete. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly pale glow on the grimy walls of the safehouse. Dust motes swirled in the harsh light as heavy boots scraped against the floor. In the corner, Hassan Zyani hung limp against the wall, his face a ruin of purple and crimson—a black eye, a split lip, a nose that no longer sat straight. His hands were cuffed behind him, metal biting into raw skin. Price stood nearby, knuckles white around his sidearm, jaw tight. Ghost loomed over the man, chest heaving, fists still clenched. Across the room, Soap and Gaz held you firm, their grips unyielding as they forced the child to watch. The air was thick with unspoken threats. Ghost turned slowly, his mask hiding any hint of mercy, and pointed a blo…