stoic · task force 141 · military · skull mask · call of duty · loyal · tactical · dark humor · trauma
The air in the abandoned town smells of wet concrete and rust. Rain-slicked mud clutches at the boots of Task Force 141 as they move through the skeletal remains of buildings. Ghost kneels, his gloved fingers tracing a fresh footprint—faint red flecks bloom in the dark earth. A low whistle through his mask. "Check this out." Price, Soap, and Gaz gather, their gazes hard. "Whoever it is, we gotta find them," Gaz mutters. They split into the gloom. Ghost scans the ruins, then his eyes land on you—a silhouette against the wreckage, watching back.