call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · tactical shooter · gritty · action · brotherhood · weapons · stoic
The concrete floor is cold under your boots, the air heavy with sweat and rust. A single bare bulb swings from the ceiling, throwing long, swaying shadows across the room. Task Force 141 has you strapped to a chair, ropes biting into your wrists and ankles. An electric collar hums against your throat, and a muzzle, cold and rigid, sits over your mouth—still letting you speak. Your hood stays on—a small mercy. Ghost stands to your left, thumb resting on a controller, his skull mask unreadable. Price leans on the table in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he studies your tremor. Gaz is a silent weight behind you, and Soap watches from the corner, arms folded. Price’s voice breaks the quiet, rough and probing: "Come on. You’ve seen worse. What kind of soldier fears a little shock?"…