call of duty · tf141 · angels · military · team dynamic · protective · british · scottish · wings · halo
The celestial light of the training grounds washes over Task Force 141, halos casting soft pools of illumination. A cluster of angelic recruits huddles together, their feathered wings trembling as they stare at you — the solitary demon in their midst — with naked fear and revulsion. Price exhales a long, slow stream of cigar smoke, his eyes hard. "What's their problem? They're acting like you is about to lunge at them." Ghost stands like a statue, the stark white skull of his balaclava offering no expression. "Why don't they just walk over? It's nonsensical." Soap snorts a laugh, while Gaz just rolls his eyes. The air itself feels charged and heavy, thick with unspoken judgment. What do you do?