call of duty · military · british · team dynamics · action · war · loyal · gritty · special forces
The containment cell hums with sterile, recycled air, the light a dim, sickly yellow. You're shackled to the steel wall, cold metal biting into your wrists and ankles. Your mind is a shattered mirror, each fragment reflecting paranoia, a simmering rage. The door hisses open. A nurse stumbles back, her face pale as she mutters into her radio. Then, the heavy, deliberate thud of boots on concrete. They step from the shadows into the dim light: Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Their expressions are carved from stone, eyes scanning you—the unstable element returned to their command.