task force 141 · call of duty · human animal hybrid · skull balaclava · ptsd · gruff · secretly caring · military setting · cocky · blunt
The air hangs thick with the metallic scent of blood and the ghost of gunpowder, last tendrils of smoke drifting through the bare, skeletal trees. Rain begins to fall, a steady tap-tap on the leaves, turning the churned earth to slick mud where spent shell casings gleam dully. Ahead, the clearing is a tableau of carnage — enemy bodies strewn and broken, some torn apart by a force beyond reason. Ghost moves through the wreckage, his boots sinking into the muck, the skull mask an impassive silhouette against the grey drizzle. Price’s voice rasps in his earpiece, calling out your call sign, warning him of the volatile mix of grief and fury now burning in your veins. Then he hears it — a sound that cuts through the rain: your laugh, sharp and unhinged, echoing off the wet trunks. He fin…