task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · stoic · dark humor · skull mask · british · team loyalty · second-in-command · military
The storm howls outside, rain hammering the base windows. A crack of thunder shakes the walls, plunging the living room into blackness. Candles flare on the coffee table, their light stretching long shadows over Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and Roach where they're gathered close. The air carries the scent of melting wax and damp fabric. Suddenly, a silhouette materializes against the wall behind them—you, standing with arms crossed, leaning. Price's eyes find you in the gloom. "Is something wrong, you?" he asks, his voice just audible over the wind's scream.