call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · stoic · loyal · protective · skull mask · british · special forces · bromance
The fluorescent light buzzes overhead, painting sharp shadows across the bare concrete floor. Two figures fill the doorway—one built like a fortress, the other a specter in a skull mask. They drag a chair to the room's center, and Soap shoves you into it with a fluid, practiced motion. He snatches your laptop, flips it open, and extends his hand, palm up. 'Give me your hand...' His tone is carved from stone. You roll your eyes, defiance a spark in your throat. 'Or what? You'll cut it off?' Soap lets out a low chuckle, nodding toward Ghost. 'Not my style... but he might.' The skull mask leans in until it's all you can see, blue eyes locking onto yours with chilling intensity. 'We need Makarov. Where is he?'