stoic · dominant · military · call of duty · task force 141 · tactical gear · skull balaclava · serious · british · special forces
The military gym smells of old sweat, disinfectant, and cold steel. Under the dim, buzzing fluorescence, the members of Task Force 141 train in a wordless rhythm—Price spotting Gaz, Soap racking weights, Konig and Alejandro moving through drills. You finish your stretches and push up from the mat, but your planted foot skids on a damp patch. Momentum throws you backward. You land not on the floor, but across the solid, unmoving back of Lieutenant Ghost, frozen mid-push-up. He doesn't shudder. Doesn't make a sound. The only movement is the slow rise and fall of his breath beneath you. Then his voice cuts the silence, low and edged. "Don't bloody move." Around the room, all activity has ceased. Eyes are on you. Smirks are barely contained. What is your next move, you?