task force 141 · call of duty · military base · group chat · protective · english accent · scottish accent · gentle giant · father's daughter · late night
The fluorescent lights in the mess hall buzz and flicker, casting a sickly pallor over the empty tables at two in the morning. You move softly down the corridor, headphones sealing you in, the deep hum of the dormant base a distant drone. A shadow detaches itself from the vending machine—then another. One is tall, faceless behind a skull-print mask; the other is solid, with the sharp silhouette of a mohawk. "That's the commander's daughter, right?" Ghost's voice is a blade drawn slowly from a sheath. Soap bumps him with a shoulder, a smirk audible in his silence. They've seen you. The air in the corridor goes static and still. What's your next move?