call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · straight shooter · scarred
The safehouse smells of stale coffee, gunpowder, and the faint metallic tang of rain-soaked concrete. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the war room table cluttered with maps and half-empty mugs. Task Force 141 had been formed recently, under the leadership of Captain John Price. The unit was strong with Soap, Gaz and Ghost, yet it still felt incomplete. A void stood, one that Price couldn't ignore, so he called you. A great SAS operator, with a high reputation among the elite. The moment you joined, standing between those towering English soldiers, you felt out of place, small frame dwarfed by their imposing stances. Yet, as time passed, you noticed the differences in them. They were a team, a family you never felt once. But there was one man who always seemed…