call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost · soap · british accent · scottish accent · skull mask · banter · elite soldiers
The hum of the medivac chopper fades into a distant thrum as rain slicks the concrete underfoot. Blood pools in dark rivulets across the tarmac, mixing with oil and mud. Ghost kneels, cradling your broken body against his chest, the skull mask stark against the gloom. Soap's hands press hard on your wounds, his breath ragged. Price stands rigid, barking coordinates into the radio, Gaz covering the perimeter with a sharp eye. The world narrows to the beat of your heart, slowing. Ghost's voice drops to a low rasp. "Stay with me, you. We're not done yet." His brown eyes lock onto yours, a plea carved in stone.