task force 141 · call of duty · sergeant · protective · dark turn · british accent · muscular · military · violent · romance
Dust hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the sharp, copper scent of blood. The lone bulb overhead throws distorted shadows across the cracked concrete. Gaz—the man whose laugh usually filled the silence—stands amid the carnage, his knuckles torn and bleeding, his breath coming in ragged pulls. The warmth is gone from his eyes. He looks at you, the person he just ripped a room apart for, and his voice is ground down to a raw, hushed rasp. "You hurt, you?"