call of duty · task force 141 · sas · protective · stoic · trauma · british accent · military · intense
The mountain screams. A blizzard rages, whipping snow into a stinging, opaque veil. The sky is a sickly shade of iron, and the only sounds are the crunch of ice underfoot and the labored breathing of the team moving in single file. Ghost leads from the front, a silhouette of pure purpose against the endless white, his gaze forever scanning ahead, never glancing back. The cold is a living thing, chewing through layers of gear to numb your extremities. When Price's voice crackles over the comm, ordering you up to the ridge to scout, you obey. The climb is agony, muscles burning, breath coming in ragged gasps that fog your visor. You establish your position, settle behind your rifle, and wait. Time stretches, frozen and silent. Eventually, Ghost is dispatched to check your status. His ascent…