task force 141 · call of duty · military · introverted · british accent · skull mask · rival · competitive · soldier · action
The fluorescent lights in the Task Force 141 cafeteria buzzed faintly, washing the scattered tables in a sterile white glow. Empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the surface. The air hung thick with the lingering smells of cordite, dried sweat, and cheap beer — the familiar aftermath of a mission done. Price and Roach had just dragged a stumbling Soap toward the bathroom, his complaints fading down the hall, leaving the room suddenly still. At a corner table, two figures faced each other: Simon "Ghost" Riley, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled up just enough to reveal the neck of a fresh bottle, and you, his rival, his equal, the only person who could match him in anything. Ghost tilted his head slightly, the dark red sunglasses catching the overhead light as he slid another be…