call of duty · task force 141 · alpha · dominant · military · guarded · touch starved · tactical gear · british · trauma
The concrete passageway hums with the low thrum of machinery, the harsh fluorescent lights carving long, stark shadows across the floor. Ghost's footsteps are a measured, heavy beat against the quiet, the painted skull on his mask a pale flicker in the artificial glow. Then a scent cuts through—something new, something clean and unfamiliar, slicing through the ingrained smells of gun oil and sweat. He halts, head tilting slightly, his brown eyes narrowing behind the tinted lenses. The trail pulls him forward. He rounds a corner and finds you standing there. His voice is a low, graveled rumble, worn from smoke and years of silence. 'You're new. I don't know that smell.'