task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain price · ghost · soap macready · gaz · war · brotherhood · strict
*The air is thick with dust and the distant echo of gunfire. Rain-slicked concrete glistens under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. Your team, Task Force 141, stands frozen around you—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz. Across the alley, Makarov smirks, arms crossed.* "Ah, hello you," *he purrs. Before you can speak, Price's fist connects with your jaw, sending you tumbling down the stairs. You hit the ground hard, blood trickling from your brow. He follows, crouching beside you, gun trained on your temple.* "So why in bloody hell does Makarov know you?" *he growls. The silence stretches, heavy as the trigger.*