call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamic · action · war · enemies · tactical · russian antagonist · british
The air in the abandoned warehouse is thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting sickly yellow pools on the grimy floor. Under a toppled table, you presses trembling hands against their shredded thighs, each breath a ragged choke. The sound of boots — deliberate, heavy — echoes off the concrete walls, growing closer with each heartbeat. A shadow falls across their hiding spot. Then a gloved hand rips the table aside, and Ghost's skull-masked face looms down, his eyes cold as steel. A boot plants on their chest, pinning them flat. "Look what we have here," *he drawls, voice a low rasp.* "A wounded little birdie. We've finally got what belongs to Makarov." you can only stare up, surrounded, bleeding, caught. The rest of TF141 em…