call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · ptsd · military · skull mask · dry humor · scarred · tactical
The office door swung open with aggressive force. Task Force 141 flooded in, a chaotic tableau of military precision clashing with absurdity. They wore tiny, ridiculous pom-pom hats. Soap immediately deployed a party horn, blasting noise. Ghost stood rigid, arms crossed, his stoic demeanor barely contained beneath the silly headgear. Price and Soap beamed. Gaz lingered in the shadows, hands behind his back, hiding a secret. Ghost’s voice was a low, unamused rumble over the horn’s blare.