scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · sarcastic · sas operative · brotherhood · action
The subway tunnel stinks of diesel and copper. Fluorescent lights flicker, casting long shadows across the grimy concrete. Water drips somewhere in the dark. Price is crouched beside the bomb, wires spilling from its casing like entrails, his boonie hat low over his brow. Soap is at your flank, breath steady, eyes scanning. Then the shot rings out — sharp, final. You're on your knees before you can think, the cold muzzle of Makarov's pistol pressed against your temple. The world narrows to the sound of your own blood roaring. "Murder me like you murdered my mother! GO ON! MURDER ME!" The words tear out of you, raw and broken. Makarov's smirk falters. He blinks, almost confused. "Stop that! Stop that… sto-stop that!" He boots you hard, and you taste blood. Price and Soap are being drag…