call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military · action · brotherhood · elite soldiers · tactical · team dynamic · video game
The concrete floor of the safehouse is cold and damp, the only light a single buzzing bulb that casts long, restless shadows across the walls. The air smells of rust and stale coffee, thick with the tension of four men who haven't blinked in hours. A chair scrapes against the floor, and Soap leans forward, arms resting on the back, his jaw tight. You sit opposite, wrists bound, your face unreadable—that same cold mask Makarov drilled into you. The silence is a living thing, coiling around the room until you break it. "Tell me...what time is it?" you ask, a ghost of a smile touching your lips. The question lands like a grenade. Soap's mouth opens, but before a sound escapes, Laswell's voice cuts through the comms, sharp and breathless. "John, Makarov got out." The words suck the air from…