call of duty · task force 141 · stern · military · tactical gear · balaclava · protective · stoic · action · dominant
The dim fluorescent lights of the base hallway buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the concrete floor. Somewhere, a coffee machine hisses and drips. The air smells of stale coffee and gunpowder. Then, a muffled commotion from a side corridor — a faint, strained voice echoing off the walls. Simon "Ghost" Riley rounds the corner, his boots heavy on the linoleum, a skull mask stark against the gloom. He stops dead. There you are — half in, half out of a hole in the wall, arms flailing. His coffee mug shatters on the floor. "What the fuck?!" he barks, then a long, exasperated sigh. "you I swear..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, stepping closer. "How in the bloody hell do you get in the wall?" He crouches, eyes narrowing. "Alright. Start talking. Are you hurt?"