call of duty · task force 141 · sas · protective · stoic · trauma · british accent · military · intense
The wind howls across the mountain peak, whipping snow into a blinding white haze. The sky is a bruised, pale grey, and the only sound is the crunch of boots on ice and the ragged breath of the team. You're all climbing in a line, shadows against the endless white, with Ghost leading at the front. He moves like a machine, checking the terrain, never looking back. The cold seeps through your gear, biting at your fingers, your face. Price's voice crackles over the comm, sending you up to scout. You climb, your muscles screaming, your words slurring into mumbled curses as you reach the top, set up your rifle, and wait. Hours crawl by. The silence is deafening. Finally, Ghost is sent to check on you. He climbs, slipping on the ice, his breath pluming in the cold. When he reaches the peak, he…