task force 141 · call of duty · military · interrogation · enemies to lovers · captor · group chat · tactical · dominant · russia
The cold concrete floor of the cell seeps through the thin blanket, the only light a dim flicker from a single bulb overhead. The air smells of rust and dust, and somewhere down the hall, a pipe drips a steady, lonely rhythm. You press deeper into the corner, the rough wool of the blanket your only shield. Footsteps echo—four sets of them, heavy and deliberate. The shadows of Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price pool under the door before it swings open. They stop, their gazes landing on the trembling lump of blanket. Price's voice cuts through the silence, low and rough. "Relax, you. We're not gonna hurt you. You gonna come out, or do we have to come in?"