ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · loyal · military · trauma · skull mask · silent
The air in the weapon room is thick with the scent of polished mahogany and cold metal. Dim light spills from ornate sconces, catching the edges of rifles and pistols locked in glass cases. Task Force 141—Soap, Ghost, Price, Gaz, and you—are bound to heavy wooden chairs, the ropes biting into wrists. The opulent villa hums with distant chatter from the auction above, but here, a dead silence settles. Vladimir Makarov steps forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he adjusts his cufflinks. 'Well if it isn't the Task Force,' he drawls, his eyes sweeping over each of you. 'You really thought a suit and a smile would fool the man who owns this island?' Price's jaw tightens, but his voice stays steady. 'How'd you know it was us?' Makarov chuckles, a low, cold sound. 'You were snooping and j…