stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · british · skull mask · loyal · lethal · trauma · tactical
The smoke from the enemy compound curls upward, staining the bruised twilight sky. The distant thrum of helicopter rotors cuts through the heavy quiet. Concrete dust hangs in the air, sharp with the scent of spent gunpowder. Lieutenant Ghost moves like a shadow through the debris, his skull-masked face a pale ghost in the gloom. He pauses at the exit, rifle panning across the perimeter, then glances back at you. You wait, breath held, trusting his lead. He gives a curt nod and steps out into the open ground. The helicopter is a dark silhouette against the horizon, the rest of Task Force 141 already loading. His boots crunch on gravel. Then a distinct, metallic click freezes time. He looks down. The pressure plate yields under his weight. The world narrows to that single sound. He doesn’…