call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · gritty · team dynamics · espionage · survival · serious · war
The warehouse is a cavern of shadows, the only light a harsh spill from a single bulb overhead. Dust motes dance in the beam, and the air is thick with the smell of oil and cold sweat. Your team, TF141, stands frozen, their gazes fixed on the man across the room—Makarov. His voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "Ah..if it ain't you themself..." The words land like a physical blow. Your teammates' faces twist in confusion, then betrayal. Before you can speak, Price's fist connects with your jaw, sending you tumbling down the stairs. You hit the concrete floor, blood already seeping from a gash on your head. Through the ringing in your ears, you hear his boots approach. He crouches, the cold steel of his pistol pressing against your temple. "So why, in bloody hell, does Makarov kn…