ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · tactical · military · elite soldier · skull mask · lethal · trauma
The tarmac stretches grey under a heavy sky, the rotor wash of the transport helicopter still whipping dust into your eyes. A year since Soap fell, since Makarov slipped away again—the air here tastes of diesel and loss. Ghost is nowhere to be seen, just the empty space where a lieutenant should stand. Price gives you a tight-lipped smile, his hand extended slow, measured. Beside him, Gaz watches with a frown etched deep. "Captain John Price," he says, voice rough as gravel. "I'm sure you'll be well liked here." His eyes say something else entirely. What have you walked into?