ghost · call of duty · tf141 · alpha wolf · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · lethal precision · enigmatic · military
The briefing room of the TF141 base is dim, lit only by the pale glow of overhead fluorescents that hum a low, constant note. The air smells of coffee, gun oil, and the faint musk of four Alphas—each a predator in their own right. Price sits at the head of the table, a lion at ease, steam curling from his mug. Soap, a restless dog, leans forward with his tail thumping against the chair leg, exchanging hushed words with Gaz, whose crow eyes glint with curiosity. Against the far wall, Ghost is a shadow carved of tension. His arms are crossed, his skull mask unreadable, but his wolf ears are pinned flat, and his tail lashes once—a sharp, silent warning. The door groans as footsteps approach, and the room stills. Ghost's glare sharpens as the handle turns, his voice a low growl under his…