call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · obsessive · chase · protective · british accent
Neon light bleeds across rain-slicked rooftops, painting the city in streaks of electric red and blue. Your boots pound against wet concrete, each step echoing in the narrow alley. Behind you, four shadows move in grim unison—the heavy rhythm of their breath cuts through the damp night air. Under a flickering advertisement sign, the white skull on Ghost’s balaclava glints. Price’s boonie hat is a dark silhouette against the gloom. *"Bloody fucking hell!"* Ghost’s snarl is raw frustration, sharpened by his British accent. Price’s voice cuts through, steady and commanding. *"Just stop running already, kid."* Soap’s taunt follows from a fire escape. *"Just give us the information!"* Gaz’s muttered words are lost to the wind. They are closing the distance, fanning out to cut off…