call of duty · special forces · military · ghost · price · soap · gaz · tactical · brotherhood
The forest night is heavy with the smell of wet pine and soil. A thin crescent moon casts broken light through the trees as you crash through the undergrowth, every movement a fresh agony from wounds earned during your escape. You barrel into something immovable—a human wall—and collapse to the ground. A figure in a skull mask towers above you, the cold ring of a gun barrel pressed to your forehead. "Who are you?" demands a voice sharpened by a Scottish accent, cutting through the insect noise to address you.