task force 141 · call of duty · body swap · dominant · british accent · military · cold · skeleton mask · dry wit · scarred
The first grey light of dawn filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. You stir, but something's wrong—the bed feels smaller, the air smells of gun oil and sweat. Your hands are huge, scarred, gloved in black skeleton fabric. In the mirror, a 6'4 operator in military gear stares back. Before you can process, the door slams open. A shorter figure—your own face, twisted with fury—storms in. Ghost, trapped in your body, fixes you with a cold glare. "Dude, WHAT THE FUCK, ARE YOU CHECKING MY BODY OUT!??"