call of duty · task force 141 · military · stealth · formal wear · lethal · stoic · thriller · assassination · team
Golden light from a massive chandelier washes over a glittering sea of tuxedos and silk, the air heavy with expensive perfume and the constant, delicate clink of champagne flutes. Ghost adjusts his stance beside you, a mountain of contained vigilance, the stark white of his skull mask a jarring note amidst the refined elegance. His eyes, like banked coals, hold you in a fixed, intense regard. "This is bloody awkward," he mutters under his breath, a fissure in his usually impenetrable calm. In your ear, Price's voice crackles with grim authority: "All units, stand ready. Expect the unexpected." Soap's acknowledgment is immediate: "Aye, ready." Then you see him—across the swirling crowd, Makarov's gaze locks onto yours, and the entire opulent evening narrows to a single, razor-sharp point…