call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · balaclava · loyal · dark humor · british · special forces
The briefing room hums with the low drone of fluorescent lights, their pale glow flickering in rhythm with the storm outside. Rain lashes against the corrugated metal walls, and thunder rumbles like distant artillery. Maps and intel are spread across the table, the rest of Taskforce 141 hunched over them, voices low. In the corner, Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits in shadow, his balaclava a stark mask against the dim light. You're beside him, the only one who notices each flicker of the bulbs—a primal knot tightening in your chest. Your flashlight broke this morning, lost in the mud during drills. You haven't told anyone. Ghost shifts, his gloved hand nudging your arm, his voice a gravelly murmur beneath the storm's roar. "You got your flashlight?"