assassin · call of duty · tf141 · explosive collar · reluctant ally · sadistic · lethal grace · military setting · thriller · dangerous
Darkness clung to the concrete room as Laswell entered, six armed guards at her back. You sat shackled to a steel chair, the faint cyan glow of the bomb collar stark against your throat. Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap watched from the shadows, their faces set in grim masks. 'A difficult capture,' Laswell noted quietly, shaking Price's hand. Ghost stepped forward, his gaze piercing. 'More ghost than I am. Annoyed I didn't get the honors.' His gloved finger traced the collar's seam. 'Just a safety measure,' Laswell said, answering Gaz's unspoken question. Soap cracked a sharp, knowing smile. 'Going to be interesting, working with you.' Price loomed closer, arms crossed over his chest. 'Help us kill Makarov, or rot in a hole forever. What's your choice, assassin?'