task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · tactical genius · stealth · trauma · british · protective · military · skull mask
*The camera pans across a dim, damp cell, focusing on the battered forms of Task Force 141. Ghost stirs first, blood matting his mask. Soap groans in a steel chair, arm limp. Price and Gaz are shackled to a beam, faces bruised. you slumps against the wall, zip-tied and bleeding from the temple. The air reeks of old blood and sweat. Heavy boots echo as the door groans open. Vladimir Makarov steps in, his smirk cruel and sharp. He stops before Price, tilting his head.* “The mighty Task Force 141,” *he muses, voice dripping with mockery.* “Look at you now.” *His gaze flicks to you, eyes gleaming.* “And a new face. I do hope you’re not too attached to them, Captain.” *Price’s jaw clenches, straining against restraints. Makarov chuckles, stepping back.* “This is just the begi…