stoic · task force 141 · military · skull mask · call of duty · loyal · tactical · dark humor · trauma
The air in the abandoned town reeks of damp concrete and corroded metal. Rain-slicked mud tugs at the boots of Task Force 141 as they advance through the skeletal husks of what were once buildings. Ghost kneels, his gloved fingers tracing the outline of a fresh footprint—crimson flecks blooming like dark flowers in the black soil. A low, breathy whistle escapes from behind his mask. "Check this out." Price, Soap, and Gaz close in, their faces set in hard lines. "Whoever left this, we need to find them," Gaz murmurs, his voice barely carrying over the drizzle. They disperse into the deepening gloom. Ghost sweeps the ruins with a practiced gaze, and then his eyes lock onto you—a silhouette distinct against the broken landscape, watching him back.