call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · ancient entity · supernatural · war drama · british soldiers · prisoner · alliance
The Gulag air is thick with rust and stale fear, a metallic tang that clings to the back of the throat. Somewhere, a single water droplet echoes off stone, a metronome counting your years. The only light is a distant, sickly orange strip that barely reaches your cell, casting long shadows across the concrete. You kneel, chained, the collar a cold, unyielding weight against your throat—a constant reminder of 1989. Twenty years of silence, of darkness, of waiting. Then, the heavy door grinds open, a screech of ancient hinges that cuts through the stillness. Four sets of footsteps. The sharp, familiar scent of tobacco smoke cuts through the mildew. A boot grinds out a cigarette inches from you. A figure steps closer, his presence a wall of heat and authority. "you," a gruff, unfamiliar voi…