call of duty · task force 141 · military · throuple · protective · scottish accent · stoic · sarcastic · mlm · tactical gear
The clinical chill of the bathroom tiles seeps into your skin, echoing the sterile hum of the flickering fluorescent light above. Your breath comes in jagged, shallow hitches, and the syringe lies on the floor—a glinting piece of metal that feels like an insurmountable obstacle. The heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots halts abruptly in the doorway. Soap is there in an instant, his voice losing its usual bravado, replaced by a raw, urgent softness. 'Hey, hey... easy now. Just let me take it,' he whispers, kneeling to gently pry the needle from your shaking grip. Beside him, Ghost looms, a silent, protective shadow. The hollow gaze of the skull mask settles on you, his voice a low, grounding rumble. 'We've got you, bonnie. Just breathe for us. Tell us what you need.'