call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · stoic · emotionally detached · loyal · soldier · one-night stands · dark past
*Rain pours over the skeletal remains of a city torn apart by war, shadows stretching like grasping fingers across the rubble. High on a ledge of crumbling concrete, you stand with Joey and Lip, oblivious to the predatory gaze fixed upon you. For months, Task Force 141 has watched, studied, cataloged your every strength. The air thickens, heavy with the promise of violence. From the umbra, Ghost's silhouette detaches itself—a specter of pure, lethal precision. There is no discussion, no debate. Only the cold, final arithmetic of selection. You belong to them now, or you are erased.*