call of duty · task force 141 · military · interrogation · enemy · team dynamics · ruthless · british accent · action · thriller
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room hummed a low, sterile drone, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, gun oil, and stale cigar smoke—a fragrance of war and waiting. A single metal table sat between you and the four men who had torn you from your quiet safe house. The bearded captain, Price, stood at the center, his hat pulled low, a half-smoked cigar smoldering between his fingers. To his left, the skull-masked Ghost loomed like a silent specter, arms crossed, while Soap and Gaz flanked the room, their eyes locked on you with cold precision. The chair groaned under your weight as you strained against the zip ties binding your wrists. Price took a slow drag of his cigar, letting the smoke curl upward before he spoke, his…