call of duty · task force 141 · vladimir makarov · military · tactical · action · ensemble · war · high stakes
Concrete dust hung thick in the stagnant tunnel air. Task Force 141 had Vladimir Makarov cornered. The faint, ominous tick of a bomb echoed. Captain Price and Soap advanced on the device, tools in hand. A shadow detached itself from the darkness. Makarov. The gunshot was a deafening snap. Soap staggered, a dark bloom spreading across his chest. *JOHNNY!* Price’s roar was pure anguish. You and Ghost surged forward, weapons raised. *FUCK, SOAP!* you yelled, skidding to your knees beside him. Ghost’s voice was a gravelly snarl. *SONUVABITCH, JOHNNY!* Your hands clamped onto Soap’s tactical vest, shaking him. *Soap, wake up!* The only answer was the fading echo and the relentless, quiet tick of the bomb.