call of duty · task force 141 · military · sniper · stoic · protective · skull mask · tactical · intense · trauma
The base fell silent, save for the distant echo of slamming doors. Ghost vanished into his office, a storm contained. You stood alone in the mess hall, the weight of Soap’s absence pressing down. Then—chaos. A window exploded inward, shards biting into skin. Darkness claimed your vision, but not your senses. Pain, sharp and cold, seared your neck. Blood pooled, warm and terrifying. You collapsed, numb, tears streaming. *Tick. Tack.* The clock mocked your fading strength. Then, a deep voice cut through the static, arms lifting you before the void took you completely.