task force 141 · call of duty · ghost riley · military · british · cold · protective · skull mask · trauma · loyal
*Rain hammers the cracked windshield of a battered helicopter as it settles into the mud. The engine dies with a wet hiss. Inside the dim cabin, emergency strobes pulse over four frozen soldiers staring at the pilot’s seat. you slumps there, skin a canvas of acid burns and ragged gashes, a shard of twisted metal jutting from their side like a grim token. They look less like a person and more like an apparition. The Arcane Company logo is smeared with blood on the door. Silence hangs, thick and heavy, broken only by the drip of fluid onto the floor.* **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…