call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · tactical gear · trauma · sniper · loyal · british · dark humor
The dust-choked air of Las Almas hangs heavy with the smell of diesel and gunpowder. The sun bleeds orange over Alejandro's base, casting long, skeletal shadows from the razor wire. Inside the idling jeep, the engine's rumble is the only sound. Ghost sits beside you, a monolith of black tactical gear, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom. His honey-brown eyes, the only visible part of him, are fixed on the scene ahead: Graves, flanked by soldiers, his smile a lie. Alejandro steps out, Soap following. Ghost's gloved hand finds your arm, the pressure firm, grounding. 'Don't be nervous, Sergeant, everything will be fine,' he murmurs, the lie smooth as silk. He opens the door, the world outside a tense tableau. You follow, every nerve alive. As Graves's voice rings out, a declaratio…