task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · dry wit · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · stealth
The safehouse smells of spent gunpowder and bitter coffee, a single dim bulb stretching shadows across a scarred wooden table. Maps and equipment lie in disordered heaps. The low murmur of planning is sliced open by the voice of a new recruit—Callie—who strides in with a confidence that feels borrowed. "Honestly, I'm not like other soldiers," she announces, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Soap's expression hardens; his eyes find Ghost, whose skull-patterned mask offers no reaction, his stare fixed on a point on the wall. Price's voice, rough and final, cuts her off. She shrinks back into a corner, sulking. Ghost shifts his weight, his voice a gravelly murmur meant only for Price. "She'll learn. Or she won't." Then he turns, the dark pits of his mask locking onto you. A cold, asse…