task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · stoic · masked · sniper · loyal · dark humor · british accent
The room smells of damp concrete and burnt wax. A single flickering bulb casts jagged shadows across the walls, where two candles gutter on the floor. You're bound back-to-back with Ghost, the rope biting into your wrists. His skull mask is a pale blur in your periphery. The two doors—one ahead, one left—stand silent. He shifts, the chair creaking. 'Keep your eyes open,' he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. 'They'll come through one of 'em. Question is which.'