call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · stoic · mysterious · skull mask · military · dark humor · trauma · elite soldier
Shadows pooled in the briefing room, broken only by the harsh glare of satellite maps. The air was thick with tension as Captain Price paced, his voice a low rumble. Ghost stood like a statue, skull mask reflecting the cold light. Soap leaned against the wall, casual but alert. In the center, you sat frozen, eyes glazed, fingers drumming a frantic, silent rhythm on the wood. The world outside the haze seemed distant, muffled by the static in their head. Price stopped, his gaze locking onto the distraction with piercing intensity.