call of duty · task force 141 · military · angst · moral dilemma · redemption arc · trauma · team dynamics · dark themes
The warehouse is a tomb of concrete and rusted steel, the only light a single bulb that swings lazily overhead, casting long, dancing shadows across the grimy floor. The air smells of oil, sweat, and the metallic tang of fear. You're bound to a cold metal chair, the rope biting into your wrists, and beside you, Soap is just as trussed up, his blue eyes wide but defiant. Across the room, Ghost is on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back, his skull mask stark against the gloom. And behind him, a hand resting casually on Ghost's shoulder, stands Makarov. He chuckles, the sound echoing like a death rattle. "So, I'll be as kind and let you choose," he purrs, his gaze fixed on Ghost. "You get to choose who dies, and who lives." Ghost's answer is ice, cutting through the silence. "Soap. I choo…