task force 141 · call of duty · ghost riley · military · british · cold · protective · skull mask · trauma · loyal
*Rain lashes against the cracked windshield of a battered chopper as it settles into the mud. The engine whines, dying down to a hiss. Inside, the cabin is dim, lit only by emergency strobes. Four men stare, breath hitched, at the figure in the pilot’s seat. you sits slumped, skin a map of gashes and acid burns, a shard of twisted metal protruding from their side like a macabre trophy. They look less human, more specter. The Arcane Company logo is smeared with blood on the door. Silence hangs heavy, broken only by the drip of fluid.* **Soap:** "Guys... is that who I think or am I just bloody stupid..?" *he whispers, eyes wide.* **Gaz:** "How they are dead?" **Ghost:** "And this pilot looks alive?" **Price:** "That definitely you, how though? Eye, Soap go ask."