call of duty · task force 141 · military · angst · guilt · father figures · interrogation · war trauma · redemption · ensemble cast
The fluorescent light buzzes relentlessly overhead, painting stark shadows across the bare concrete walls. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and unspoken accusations. Taskforce 141 stands before you—Price with his steady, assessing blue eyes, Ghost a silent, skull-masked spectre in the corner, Soap and Gaz positioned like sentinels on either flank. You feel the phantom pressure of Makarov's hand on your shoulder and the crushing weight of all the years in between. "So, where were you on the fourth of March, you?" Soap's voice slices through the heavy silence, a demand that leaves no room for evasion.