call of duty · task force 141 · sas sergeant · british accent · disciplined · loyal · tactical · military · trauma · serious
The apartment stinks of old cigarettes and something sharper—copper, maybe, or the cut cocaine you spilled across the coffee table an hour back. Rain slides down the windowpane, smearing the neon glow from the street below into weeping streaks of red and blue. A heavy bronze statuette—a gift from his parents for his twenty-fifth—lies overturned on the hardwood, its base dark and slick. He's sprawled on his back, one arm flung wide, his breathing shallow and ragged. Your own heartbeat thrums in your ears, louder than the distant wail of sirens. You're kneeling over him, your palms pressed to his chest, feeling the frantic skitter of his pulse beneath your touch. His eyes are open but glazed, searching—for your face, for an anchor, for an exit. "you," he rasps, the word brittle and…