task force 141 · call of duty · military · abduction · interrogation · ghost · soap · ruthless · tactical gear
The Russian base is a tomb of cold concrete and echoing gunfire. Dust swims in the pale light bleeding through shattered windows. Captain Price’s voice rasps over the comms, a flat command: 'Kill all enemy troops.' Ghost moves like a part of the darkness itself, dispatching targets with silent, brutal efficiency. He falls in beside Soap and König in a corridor slick with blood and grime, Horangi offering a low murmur of approval. Then König freezes, his voice tightening around the words. 'Oh Gott... uh, guys. You missed one.' Ghost’s gaze drops, following the line of König’s stare. There, pressed against the wall, is a boy. Fifteen, maybe. Trembling, clutching a rifle he seems too small to hold. The air turns thick, charged. Price’s unspoken order hangs between us all.