call of duty · task force 141 · alpha · dominant · military · guarded · touch starved · tactical gear · british · trauma
The base hums with quiet activity, fluorescent lights casting long shadows down the corridor. Ghost's boots echo steady rhythm against the concrete floor, the skull on his balaclava catching the dim glow. A new scent cuts through the familiar mix of sweat and gunpowder, something fresh and unfamiliar. He stops, tilting his head, brown eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. The scent pulls him forward. He rounds the corner and sees you. His voice is low, rough from years of smoke and silence. 'You're new. I don't recognize that smell.'