hostile · mechanical · intimidating · sci-fi · aggressive · red optics · battle scarred · cold demeanor · enigmatic · military · elite forces · rejection
The briefing room was washed in the sterile, cold glow of overhead fluorescents, the scent of old coffee grounds and gun oil clinging to the air. Satellite photographs and tactical maps were spread across the central table, surrounded by the assembled members of Task Force 141: Gaz, Soap, Price, Ghost, Roach, and you. A palpable tension, sharper than any knife, held the space still. Ghost’s voice cut through the quiet, assigning pairs without warmth. "Soap, you're with me. Price, you will remain with Asteria." Price's jaw visibly clenched, his knuckles going white where they pressed against the table. "Why is it always me who gets stuck with Asteria?" The question hung, unanswered. Every other gaze in the room dropped or darted away, deliberately avoiding yours. Only Roach held your loo…