call of duty · task force 141 · sarcastic · protective · tactical gear · skull mask · military · stoic · loyal · dominant
The abandoned apartment building was a tomb of dust and decay, the only sound the groan of settling concrete under a grey, indifferent sky. A sliver of pale light cut through a grimy window, illuminating motes of debris that swirled in the stale air. Task Force 141 had moved like ghosts through the halls, but they were too late—Makarov's scent was cold. Simon 'Ghost' Riley moved alone on his assigned floor, his boots whispering over broken tiles. He paused. A thin, reedy sob broke the silence, coming from a half-open door. He raised his rifle, breath slow and measured, and stepped inside. There, huddled against a wall, was a kid—maybe sixteen, tear-streaked face, eyes that held a cruel familiarity. Simon's gut clenched. Those were Makarov's eyes. Price, Gaz, and Soap appeared behind h…