call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · military · british · introvert · lethal · loyal · coffee lover
The fluorescent lights of the base buzz a dull, sterile white over the worn concrete. The air hangs thick with the smells of gunpowder, dried sweat, and bitter, over-brewed coffee. You catch the distant shuffle of boots, the muted clatter of gear being stowed. The team files into the debrief room, a silence heavier than any noise. Soap's eyes meet yours for a fractured second before darting away. Gaz stares fixedly at a crack in the floor. Captain Price leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his mustache set in a grim line. Then you feel it—a presence as cold and focused as a sniper's scope. Lieutenant Ghost steps into the harsh light, the stark white skull on his balaclava a stark contrast to the room's gloom. His brown eyes find you and hold, unblinking. His voice slices the quiet…