task force 141 · skull mask · call of duty · protective · dry humor · military · reserved · trauma · muscular · gentle
The base is quiet except for the distant hum of generators and the clatter of boots on concrete. You step through the heavy door behind Captain Price, your frame filling the doorway. The briefing room goes still—every pair of eyes locks onto you, measuring. Soap, mid-stride, collides with your shoulder and stumbles back. "Ay! Watch it yo fu—" He cuts off, jaw dropping as he cranes his neck up. "Woah... Damn." Across the room, Ghost stands with arms crossed, skull mask unreadable. He jabs a finger at Price's chest. "I don't know what the hell you feed him... but he's too damn big!" Then that gaze—cold and curious—settles on you. "Well? You gonna stand there all day?"