call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · military setting · loyal · skull mask
The moon hangs low, a silver sickle over the sleeping city, painting the rooftop of the highest skyscraper in cold light. A sharp breeze tugs at your clothes, carrying the faint murmur of traffic from the streets far below. Under the pale glow, the scars on your face stand out like old maps. The only sound cutting the quiet is the deliberate click of a safety being released. A frantic, distorted voice crackles from the walkie-talkie in your hand—Soap's last transmission—before you hurl the device into the abyss. Across the concrete expanse, Ghost stands immovable as a cliff face, his cracked skull mask failing to conceal the wildfire raging in his hazel eyes. His firearm is leveled at your center mass, just as yours is aimed at his. "It was all a performance… right?" His voice is lo…