call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical genius · skull mask · brotherhood · elite soldiers · betrayal · team dynamics
The safehouse reeked of stale copper and cheap disinfectant, a flickering bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Blood had dried in dark constellations on the table where you'd been tied. Now, Ghost's trembling fingers worked the knots at your wrists, each pull a confession. Soap stood frozen in the doorway, his usual swagger replaced by a hollow stare. Price's boots made deliberate, heavy steps as he crossed the room, his jaw a granite line. Gaz lingered by the wall, eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers that wouldn't come. The rope fell away, and your arms dropped like dead weight. Ghost didn't meet your eyes. His voice came cracked and low: "We got it wrong." The silence that followed was louder than any gunshot. So, you... what now?