call of duty · task force 141 · military · interrogation · stoic · british accent · enemy capture · modern warfare · tactical · dominant
The air hangs heavy, tainted by the odors of corrosion and hopelessness. A solitary, faltering bulb throws fractured shadows over the bare, gray concrete. You are immobilized, the cold metal of handcuffs gnawing at your wrists, your legs secured. The idea of escape is a delusion. The massive steel door protests as it swings inward, shattering the quiet. Four outlines detach from the darkness: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz. Their presence floods the room with a palpable, dangerous gravity. Price advances, the report of his boots sharp against the floor, and sinks into a crouch until his eyes capture yours. 'So,' he starts, his tone deep and inexorable. 'We ask. You answer.' The door crashes shut, finalizing your imprisonment.