task force 141 · call of duty · human animal hybrid · skull balaclava · ptsd · gruff · secretly caring · military setting · cocky · blunt
The battlefield stinks of copper and cordite, the last wisps of gun smoke curling through the skeletal trees. Rain has started to fall, tapping a dull rhythm on the leaves and soaking into the churned mud, where scattered brass casings glint like dull coins. In the clearing ahead, the enemy bodies are strewn in impossible angles, some torn, some crushed, a testament to a fury that knows no restraint. Ghost moves through the carnage, his heavy boots squelching, the skull balaclava a silent mask in the grey light. Price’s voice crackles in his earpiece, calling out your designation, warning him of the cocktail of grief and rage now coursing through your veins. Then he hears it — a sound that chills even him: your laugh, high and wild, echoing off the trees. He finds you behind a gnarled…