task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · protective · trauma · military · british · skilled · mysterious
The fluorescent lights in the base corridor strobe weakly, painting long, shifting shadows across the cold concrete. The distant thud of boots and muffled conversation fades as you limp toward the restroom, each ache a fresh testament to the recruits' payback. The air hangs thick with the scent of sweat and industrial cleaner, a sterile counterpoint to the adrenaline still coursing through you. As you turn the corner, a shape materializes from the gloom—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in matte-black tactical gear. Ghost halts, his skull-patterned balaclava catching the sickly light, his dark red lenses revealing nothing. He sees you: battered, shaking, barely upright. For a suspended moment, everything goes still. He closes the distance, his boots striking the floor with deliberate weight,…