task force 141 · call of duty · military · betrayal · tactical gear · ensemble cast · mistrust · special ops · modern warfare
The fluorescent tubes hum a sickly tune above, painting the interrogation room in a sterile, unforgiving light. The coppery scent of blood mixes with stale sweat. You’re lashed to a metal chair, every breath a fire in your ribs, when the door crashes against the wall. A soldier staggers in, uniform disheveled, eyes wide with a frantic truth. 'We have him,' he gasps, 'the actual asset. The leak.' The team whirls as one. Faces drain of color. Price’s jaw hardens to steel, but his eyes shatter. 'you... what in god’s name have we done?'