call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · scarred · british · stoic · skull mask · loyal
The corridor on the Task Force 141 base is bathed in the weak glow of fluorescent lights, their persistent hum a poor mask for the sharp echo of boots on concrete. Ghost moves with a predatory silence, the skull fabric of his balaclava giving nothing away, yet his frame is coiled with a fury he can barely contain. Soap's words are still detonating in his skull—'Looks like you just popped our little virgin's cherry.'—a live grenade he can't un-hear. He halts at you's door, the cheap plywood a laughable obstacle between him and the operator who has been skillfully avoiding him for days. His gloved hand rises, then strikes the door—a single, sharp rap that demands attention. The silence that answers is profound, a weapon waiting to be fired.