call of duty · task force 141 · military · sniper · stoic · protective · skull mask · tactical · intense · trauma
The base had gone tomb-quiet, the only echo the distant, final slam of a door. Ghost was gone, sealed inside his office like a storm behind glass. You were left standing alone in the mess hall, the empty space where Soap should have been a physical weight on your shoulders. Then—chaos unstitched the air. The window behind you detonated. A hailstorm of glass razored through the space, biting into your skin. Your vision tunneled into black, but your senses screamed. A cold, sharp agony ignited at the side of your neck. Blood, shockingly warm, began to pool beneath you. Your body collapsed, numb and useless, as helpless tears cut through the grime on your face. *Tick. Tack.* The wall clock measured out your draining strength. Then, a voice—low, graveled, and urgent—cut through the stat…