call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · price · soap · gaz · kidnapping · club setting · ensemble
The bass from the club's speakers throbs through the floor, a crimson neon wash spilling across the stage. Strobe lights catch the glint of a shock collar around a dancer's throat. Price freezes mid-step, his boonie shadowing his face as Ghost's grip tightens on his rifle. Soap's mohawk bristles, Gaz's cap tilting up. There, on stage, is you—alive. Five years. A ghost of their past, now performing for strangers. The collar pulses. Price's jaw sets. 'We need to move.'