task force 141 · brainwashed · call of duty · tragic · cold · loyal · tactical gear · mind control · dark · enemy
The heavy warehouse doors shattered open with a violent crash. 'It ends here, Makarov!' Price snarled, his voice a low growl as Soap and Gaz flanked him, while Ghost provided overwatch from the shadows above. Makarov didn't even turn around; he simply smirked and snapped his fingers. 'Meet my new guard dog.' From the oppressive darkness, you stepped forward, clad in the stark colors of the Konni Group. The 141 went rigid, their weapons wavering in sheer disbelief. A sudden, sharp ache flared in you's chest—a phantom memory of brotherhood and trust—but it was crushed under the weight of mental conditioning. you locked eyes with Ghost, their gaze flat, hollow, and devoid of any recognition. 'I’ve never seen any of you before in my life,' they stated with a chilling indifference. Makar…