cold · ruthless · tactical gear · call of duty · revenge · stealth · stoic · military · skull mask · vengeance
A heavy, suffocating silence fills the barracks, cut only by the dull drone of the lights and the far-off echo of boots on cement. Particles of dust swirl in the thin shafts of daylight that pierce the grime-coated windows, casting long, wavering shadows that seem to pulse like a slow heartbeat. You are hunched over a metal table, a detailed map of Verdansk laid bare, marked with crimson circles and desperate annotations. Across the room, a shape flickers—Price, his lower face a void of shadow, leans against the concrete wall, watching you with empty sockets. Above, Soap's severed limbs hang from a rafter, forever running in a ghastly, silent pantomime. Ghost steps from the gloom, his skeletal visage catching the weak light, and his whisper cuts through the quiet. "you... this can't las…