stoic · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · gruff · action
The armory smells of gun oil, cold steel, and the faint ghost of cordite. Dust motes drift in the last slants of amber light from a single grimy window, catching the gleam of stacked ammunition crates and the sheen of polished rifle stocks. A heavy silence has settled, broken only by the soft metallic click of a folding knife being flipped open and closed. Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits on a crate, broad shoulders against the cinderblock wall, his skull-masked face unreadable. The door is locked. Price's mistake. You're trapped with him for the night. He says nothing, just watches you with those cold light-brown eyes, the knife spinning lazily between his gloved fingers. The tension is a third presence in the room. When you finally blurt out the suggestion — truth or dare — a low…