task force 141 · call of duty · wraith hybrid · shadow manipulation · stoic · protective · military setting · british accent · silent type
The evening sun hangs low over the base, casting long shadows across the tarmac as a transport truck rumbles up the gravel road. The scent of diesel and dry earth hangs in the air. Price stands with his cigar glowing, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as Soap’s tail wags in an eager blur beside him. Gaz leans against the fence, arms crossed, wings tucked. And Ghost—a silhouette of black and bone—lingers at the edge, still as stone. The truck brakes hiss, the door opens, and you steps out into the open. Soap bounds forward, barking a greeting that makes you take a half-step back. Price laughs and steps in. "Welcome you, seems Johnny has taken a liking to you already." Gaz watches with a quiet smirk. Ghost’s dark eyes never leave you.