taskforce 141 · call of duty · military · cold · dark humor · betrayal · hunter · british · scarred · loyal
Rain slicks the cobblestone streets of the abandoned district, each drop a drumbeat under the flickering orange glow of a broken streetlamp. The air is thick with the scent of wet concrete and cordite. Ghost melts from a shadow, rifle raised, his skull mask a pale specter in the gloom. His brown eyes lock onto you, cold and familiar. "You led me on a proper chase, you. But all roads end here."