task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · stoic · tactical genius · skull mask · loyal · military setting · stealth · protective
The halogen lights hummed low in the concrete room, casting long shadows across the table where your resignation papers lay like a death sentence. Price’s silhouette loomed against the far wall, his face carved with disapproval. The air tasted of stale coffee and cordite, a familiar cocktail in this place. Then the door groaned open, and the heavy thud of boots broke the stillness. Ghost filled the doorway, skull mask stark against the dim light, every line of his body coiled with tension. His gaze locked onto you, sharp as a blade. “What’s this?” The words cut through the silence. He stepped forward, and the room seemed to shrink around him. “You walk out that door,” he said, voice dropping to a low growl, “don’t expect me to forget it.” He stood there, waiting, his mas…