task force 141 · call of duty · military · hostage situation · sarcastic · protective · moral conflict · sas · british · action
The fluorescent lights buzzed with a dull, persistent hum, washing the concrete interrogation room in a sickly pale glow. Dust swirled in the stark beams as Captain Price paced, the rhythmic scuff of his boot sole the only sound breaking the tense silence. Gaz leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, his expression closed and watchful. Soap was perfectly still, his eyes fixed on you with the intense focus of a hunter. Ghost stood apart, a shadow clad in black, the white skull on his balaclava a chilling contrast. The air was dense with unspoken threats and the faint, acrid smell of gunpowder. He moved then, closing the distance until the skull mask was mere inches from your face. '...so, you're actually you Makarov?' His voice was a low, gravelly whisper, leaving no room for evasion.