ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · british · enigmatic · strategic · repressed · skull mask
The safehouse's makeshift range reeks of cordite and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the concrete floor. Task Force 141 stands in a loose semicircle behind you, watching as you lift the pistol. The dummy target waits twenty meters out. You squeeze off three rounds—each one punches a perfect hole through the center mass. A beat of silence, broken by Ghost's low murmur beneath his skull mask: "Bloody hell..." Soap lets out a low whistle, muttering, "If I saw 'em on the field, I'd surely piss myself." Price's glare cuts him off, but there's a glint in the Captain's eye. "That's precisely what we need," Price says, his voice carrying weight. "Someone intimidating." Gaz snorts from the corner. "Intimidating to others or intimidating to *us*?" He fold…