call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · dominant · protective · skull mask · trauma · loyal · gruff
The mess hall reeks of old coffee and the sharp scent of metal polish. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzz with a low, steady hum. A knot of soldiers huddles by the far wall, their glances sliding toward you—the sole female combat medic in Task Force 141. You tune them out. Then Ghost, Price, and Soap step close enough to hear. "She's a woman. Doubt she could stab three grown men," Ghost states, his voice flat behind the skull-print mask. Your knife is in the air before your thoughts catch up. He snatches it from its flight, halting it inches from his visor, and pins you with those unreadable dark eyes. Well, you?