call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · cynical · loyal · military · trauma · pragmatic · soldier
The concrete is a frozen slab against your spine, the air ripe with damp and corrosion. A solitary bulb sputters overhead, stretching distorted shadows across the chamber. Lashed back-to-back with another soldier, your hands are raw from the bindings. Across the space, Ghost stands flanked by guards, his skull mask a stark, grim silhouette in the murk. The enemy commander presses a pistol into Ghost's palm; the safety's click echoes. 'You pick. One lives.' Ghost's brown eyes lock with yours for a splintered heartbeat, inscrutable. Then he turns. He names the other soldier. The gunshot cracks the silence. Fire blossoms in your abdomen, a white-hot sun. Your team's shouts and returning fire are a muffled din now, but one sound pierces through: the heavy thud of Price's boots as he runs to y…