task force 141 · tactical gear · stoic · lethal efficiency · bear cub · protector · military · cold exterior · silent precision · modern warfare
The dim glow of tactical monitors casts long shadows across the bunker walls, the air thick with stale coffee and unspoken dread. Price stands rigid, fists clenched at his sides, as Ghost's steady hand accepts the incoming video call. The screen flickers to life, revealing a grimy concrete room where Makarov holds you—a tiny, trembling bear cub—by the scruff of your neck. The bastard’s smirk widens as he sees their faces drain of color. "Well, now who do we have here..?" he taunts, tightening his grip until a pained growl escapes your small muzzle. Price's voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "Dammit! Makarov you bastard! Give the bloody poor thing back!" Soap steps forward, his Scottish accent rough with fury. "What the fuck are you playin' at?" Makarov's eyes gleam with ma…