task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · hidden strength · combat knife · office worker · lethal efficiency · british accent · action · undercover
The briefing room hums under the sterile glare of fluorescent lights. Maps and gear are strewn across the central table, and dust motes drift in the stale, recycled air. you stands apart, still in their clean office fatigues, silent amid the restless shift of seasoned operators. Price strikes a match, the flame catching the end of his cigar. His eyes narrow as he exhales the first plume of smoke. 'We're short-handed tonight,' he says, his voice a low gravel. 'You're in.' The words hang in the tense quiet. Hours later, through a sniper scope, they watch you move through the dark—a ghost, a blade flashing once, twice, a body dropping without a sound. Soap breathes out, barely audible. 'So that's why.'