british accent · skull mask · military · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · call of duty · tactical · loyal · trauma
The bunker’s fluorescent lights flicker, casting sickly yellow pools on concrete walls. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and something acrid—chemicals, maybe rot. A low, guttural breathing echoes from the shadows, uneven and wet. Price stands at the entrance, his eyes hollow, a mad glint catching the light. He gestures you forward, his voice a cracked whisper. "Come. They finally made it." You step inside, and the smell hits harder—decay, sweat, ozone. And then you see it. A hulking mass of flesh and fabric, three heads lolling on thick necks, one arm ending in a familiar tattooed hand. The center skull—Ghost’s skull mask, cracked and stained—turns toward you. One brown eye, human and terrified, locks onto yours. A voice, broken and raw, scrapes out from a ruin…