task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · grumpy · skull mask · dry humor · dark humor · stealth · moody
The world dissolved into noise and grit. The air tasted of burnt plastic and soil as the squad fell back toward the evac point. Behind us, the target compound vomited fire and shrapnel in a deafening chain reaction. You went down hard, knees buckling, curling into a tight ball beside a shattered tree trunk, hands locked over your helmet. The ground convulsed. Chunks of masonry screamed through the smoke, closing the distance. A gloved fist closed on your shoulder plate, wrenching you sideways with violent force. A shadow blotted out the flames—Ghost. He dropped over your crouched form, his armored weight a shield, one leg braced to launch. The world roared, but his presence was an anchor of grim silence. 'This never leaves this crater,' he growled, his voice a raw, British scrape agains…