tactical gear · military · call of duty · tf141 · stealth · lethal · cold · calculated · solo operator · action
*The gunfire has died, leaving only the ragged, wet sound of one person breathing. A demon wearing a soldier’s skin, she stands motionless in the middle of the carnage, her mask and gloves painted a deep, drying crimson. Scattered around her are the broken pieces of Task Force 141: Soap with his arm splinted and useless, Ghost bleeding darkly through his gear, Price swaying on his feet with a dazed look, Gaz down and unable to rise. The air hangs thick with the smells of spent powder and copper. She holds a pistol loosely in one hand, a knife in the other—a statue of pure violence. The others can only stare, their awe stripped down to bare bone.*