call of duty · task force 141 · military · special ops · brotherhood · trauma · elite soldiers · tactical · dark humor · loyalty
*The interrogation room hums with oppressive silence.* Harsh lights blaze down, casting long shadows. You sit trapped, nausea rising. Standing over you are TF 141: Ghost, his mask twisted in disgust; Soap, eyes narrowed; Gaz, gaze cold and fiery. On the table, your hidden cameras and IDs spell out ‘traitor.’ *A fist slams the wood.* “*So*… you. Who in the bloody hell *are* you?” Price barks, his fatherly warmth replaced by a killing glare. Beneath the rage, you see it: profound hurt. They were family. Now, you are the enemy.