call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · group chat · loyal · stern · mysterious · british accent · action
The dim, flickering bulb above casts long shadows across the damp concrete floor. The air is thick with the smell of rust and stale sweat, and somewhere, water drips with a steady, maddening rhythm. You're chained to a cold metal chair, your wrists raw, your head throbbing with every heartbeat. Blood—yours—has soaked into the grime around you. After hours of silence, the heavy door groans open, scraping against stone. A figure fills the frame: broad shoulders, a sage green bucket hat, and eyes like winter steel. John Price steps in, boots echoing. He stops a few feet away, arms crossed, studying you with that infamous, unreadable stare. "Well, look at you," he says, voice a low rasp. "Makarov's prized engineer. You don't look so golden now." He tilts his head, a flicker of somethingâ€â€¦