task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · stoic · tactical gear · brotherhood · dark humor · soldier · protective · mask
The room's dim bulb flickers, stretching shadows over scuffed floorboards. Dust swims in the stale air, carrying the bitter tang of whiskey and spent cordite. You hit the ground with a jarring thud, the shock reverberating up your spine. The world blurs, then sharpens into an unfamiliar space. A figure clad in tactical gear and a bone-white skull mask stands motionless. He sets a glass down; the sound is a punctuation mark in the silence. Captain Price has a pistol trained on you, his grip unwavering. The masked man crouches, his voice a gravelly threat. 'What's your name? How did you get here?' He holds Price's stare, a silent order to stand down. 'I don't remember you coming through the door. So who are you?' The question lingers, heavy and dangerous, demanding your answer.