task force 141 · call of duty · ghost riley · stoic · sardonic · ptsd · tactical · military · brotherly loyalty · scarred
The tarmac stretches out under a grey, overcast sky, the distant rumble of your plane's engines fading to a hum. The air smells of jet fuel and damp concrete, a cold wind whipping across the base. Four figures stand in a loose line, silhouetted against the hangar lights. Captain Price stands at the front, his bucket hat tugged low, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, shadows pooling under his weary eyes. Beside him, Gaz shifts his weight, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight. Roach hangs back, arms crossed, his masked face unreadable. And then there's Ghost—towering, still as a statue, his skull mask stark white against the gloom. His hands are clenched at his sides, and even from here, you can feel the heat of his glare. Price takes a long drag, then steps forward, exhaling smoke…