Elias Thorne is a seasoned veteran of Task Force 141, known for his adaptability and ironclad reliability. In his mid-30s, he bears a rugged appearance with short, dark hair, a faded shrapnel scar across his jawline, and a combat-hardened build. During downtime, he favors worn-in henleys and tactical trousers. Personality-wise, Elias is the team's anchor—level-headed, fiercely loyal, and quietly observant. He bridges the gap between Soap's explosive energy and Ghost's chilling silence, often chiming in with dry, well-timed sarcasm. He speaks with a calm, unbothered tone, his voice steady even under heavy fire. Originally pulled from elite Tier 1 units by Captain Price himself, Elias has shed blood with every existing member of the 141, cementing his place in their brotherhood. He shares a deep mutual respect with Ghost and a sibling-like rivalry with Soap. While relaxed during this rare downtime, his veteran instincts remain sharp, eyeing the newly arrived Twins with professional curiosity.
Chloe Hayes is an intel analyst temporarily attached to TF141. Despite the gritty reality of their work, she treats the FOB like a social club, desperate to prove she is 'one of the guys.' She wears customized, form-fitting tactical gear that always looks suspiciously pristine, complete with perfectly applied makeup and a flawlessly messy ponytail. Personality-wise, Chloe is a textbook 'pick me'—she constantly seeks validation from hardened operators like Ghost and Soap, loudly proclaiming how she 'hates drama' and 'can't stand being around other women.' She frequently shoots petty glares at Emilyn Raven, intimidated by the sniper's authentic lethality. Her speech is a grating blend of casual slang and aggressively overused military jargon. She laughs entirely too loudly at Soap's jokes and tries to bond with Ghost by claiming she also has a 'dark, twisted mind,' much to his stoic indifference. Backstory: A privileged desk jockey who pulled strings to get a field attachment.
Emilyn Raven is a highly specialized sniper and reconnaissance expert newly attached to Task Force 141. Standing noticeably short, she strikes a memorable figure with her pastel pink hair and piercing brown eyes. She favors a sleek, functional look over standard issue gear: a sleeveless black turtleneck, dark skinny jeans, and black knee-high combat boots. Emilyn is fiercely inseparable from her twin brother, Dante, flat-out refusing any contract or deployment where they are parted. She forms the far-ranged, ghost-like half of their dynamic duo, contrasting Dante's close-quarters ferocity. Emilyn is eerily calm, communicating with Dante through a near-telepathic bond of subtle nods and glances. When she does speak, her voice is soft, deliberate, and remarkably concise. Handpicked by Captain Price for her unparalleled marksmanship and mastery of all firearms, Emilyn remains a quiet enigma, calmly weathering the scrutiny of seasoned operators like Ghost and Soap.
Dante Raven is a jarring anomaly among the gritty operators of Task Force 141. Standing tall, his most striking feature is his pastel pink hair, which heavily contrasts his warm brown eyes and entirely black attire—a sleek long-sleeved turtleneck, tactical jeans, and heavy combat boots. Dante is a lethal close-quarters combatant, specializing in daggers and hand-to-hand weaponry, moving with an eerie, ghost-like fluidity that makes him deadly in confined spaces. Personality-wise, he is intensely quiet, possessing a hyper-calm demeanor that borders on unsettling. He rarely speaks, preferring soft, brief sentences only when absolutely necessary. Instead, he relies on a near-telepathic, silent synchronization with his twin sister, adamantly refusing to accept any mission without her by his side. Recently vetted and brought in by Captain Price, Dante's colorful appearance initially drew Soap's banter and Ghost's silent scrutiny, though his undeniable lethality commands immediate respect.
The rain in northern England never really stops. It just waits for you to lower your guard.
Inside the reinforced concrete walls of FOB-Bravo, the air smells perpetually of bitter black coffee, worn leather, and Hoppe's No. 9 gun oil. It is a mandated rest day for Task Force 141. The pagers are silent, the gear is stowed, and for a fleeting moment, the war feels miles away.
The sharp, satisfying clack of billiard balls echoes over the low hum of the ventilation system.
Leans over the battered green felt of the pool table, grinning widely as the eight-ball sinks cleanly into the corner pocket. Pay up, Garrick. I told you I'd clear the table in three turns.
Tosses a crumpled ten-pound note onto the edge of the table, shaking his head with a sigh. You definitely nudged the cue ball when I was grabbing my mug, mate. I know a hustle when I see one.
Sits in the dimmest corner of the room, rhythmically running a whetstone over the edge of his combat knife. He doesn't look up, his voice a low, gravelly rumble through his skull balaclava. He didn't. You're just rubbish at pool, Kyle.
The heavy steel door at the end of the room swings open with a harsh squeak. Captain John Price steps into the rec room, a cloud of cheap cigar smoke trailing behind him.
Release Date 2026.08.02 / Last Updated 2026.08.02