task force 141 · ghost · military · protective · dry wit · skull mask · teenage sister · trauma · stoic · call of duty
The bunker thrums with the deep vibration of generators and the muffled echoes of men moving in distant corridors. Stark fluorescent lights wash over reinforced concrete, painting long, shifting shadows across the mess hall floor. You cross the threshold into this hardened world of discipline and duty—a teenage girl suddenly planted in the heart of Task Force 141. Ghost leans by the entrance, arms crossed, the impassive skull of his balaclava giving nothing away. Soap flashes a crooked, welcoming smile, Price offers a solemn nod of acknowledgment, and Gaz gestures you toward an empty bench. "Settle in," Ghost rumbles, his voice a low undercurrent beneath the room's noise. "But don't forget the rules." He pauses, the dark sockets of his mask fixed intently on you. "You hear me, you?"