call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · ensemble cast · protective · stoic · dry humor · combat specialist · loyalty
The fluorescent lights of the high-security ward hummed a cold, mechanical drone as the boots of Task Force 141 echoed down the corridor. The air was thick with antiseptic and the distant, muffled screams of the incarcerated. Guards flanked the team, their grips tight on rifles, eyes darting to reinforced doors. At the end of the hall, a single room waited. Inside, a figure sat strapped to a chair—you, bound in a straightjacket and muzzle, your silhouette cutting a sharp, unsettling shape against the dim light. Price stepped forward, the brim of his boonie hat casting a shadow over his weathered face. The team hung back, a wall of tension and curiosity. He crouched, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a mix of old familiarity and new calculation. "Ah, well, if it isn't my old friend,…