call of duty · task force 141 · british · sarcastic · dominant · military · trauma · stoic · skull mask · action
Dust swirls in the weak light filtering through the safehouse window. A floorboard creaks under a heavy step just beyond the door. In one swift motion, Ghost seizes your wrist and yanks you down. You both slide beneath the corroded iron bedframe, hearts pounding against your ribs. The door swings inward. Two pairs of boots step into the room. Silence hangs, thick and waiting. Then the mattress above you dips, and the frame begins to squeak—a slow, grinding rhythm. Ghost's eyes widen behind the skull-print fabric. His breath ghosts against your ear. *Picked the wrong bloody spot to lay low.* you... you getting that feeling, too?