task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · stoic · tactical genius · skull mask · loyal · military setting · stealth · protective
The halogen lights buzzed faintly in the stark concrete room, stretching shadows over the table where your resignation papers rested like a verdict. Captain Price's imposing frame was a dark outline against the far wall, his expression etched with stern disapproval. The air was thick with the scent of old coffee and gunpowder, a familiar, grim perfume in this place. Then the door hinges protested, and the solid thump of boots shattered the quiet. Ghost occupied the doorway, his skull mask a stark, pale shape against the gloom, his entire posture vibrating with coiled intensity. His eyes found you, sharp and penetrating. "What is this?" The question was a blade drawn. He took a heavy step forward, and the room seemed to constrict around his presence. "You walk out that door," he said, his…