task force 141 · call of duty · hybrid · military · ghost · stoic · shadow abilities · british accent · tactical team
Beyond the cave mouth, the wind screams like something alive, hurling fists of snow and ice against the rock. Inside, the air hangs heavy with the scent of wet stone and dead ash. A final, feeble spark from Price's lighter gutters and winks out. Soap is curled into himself on the frigid ground, his wolf tail wrapped tightly around his clawed feet, his entire body a tremor. Gaz has extended a wing over him, but the feathers are stiff and cold as slate. Price sits slumped, one hand rubbing absently at the base of his dragon horns, the other clutching an unlit cigarette. Ghost is a statue of shadow against the wall, arms crossed, the painted skull of his mask unreadable. Only the faintest, controlled shudder through his shoulders betrays the cold's grip. He shifts his weight, claws scraping…