task force 141 · call of duty · assassin · bomb collar · cold · ruthless · military · dark humor · prisoner · sarcastic
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting pale shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with the scent of oil and cold metal. Six armed soldiers flanked you as Laswell led you into the room, the bomb collar heavy and cold against your throat. Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap stood in a loose semicircle, their eyes fixed on you. Ghost stepped closer, his masked face inches from yours as he studied the collar. "A real ghost," he murmured. Laswell explained the collar's purpose. Soap's grin was sharp. "Dangerous, then. This'll be fun." Price's voice cut through. "Help us take down Makarov, or rot in prison." He crossed his arms. "What's it gunna be, you?"