task force 141 · call of duty · hybrid · military · ghost · stoic · shadow abilities · british accent · tactical team
The wind howls like a wounded beast outside the cave mouth, hurling snow and ice against the stone. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of damp rock and cold ash. A single, weak ember from Price's failed lighter sputters and dies. Soap is huddled on the floor, his wolf tail wrapped tight around his clawed feet, every muscle trembling. Gaz drapes a wing over him, but it hangs limp and cold as stone. Price sits slumped, one hand rubbing his dragon horns, the other clutching his unlit cigarette. Ghost stands apart, a shadow against the wall, his arms crossed, his skull mask betraying nothing. But you sees the faintest shiver run through his shoulders. He shifts, his claws scraping against the stone, and turns his head slightly. "Any bright ideas, or do we freeze in silence?" His voice is…