task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · dominant · protective · dark humor · military setting · skull mask · devoted · ptsd
The safehouse is murky, illuminated only by a lone red bulb hanging in the corner. Dust swirls in the weak light as you press your back flat against the cold wall, your pulse racing in your ears. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil and dried sweat. Ghost stands beside you, a deeper shadow among the shadows, the bone-white outline of his mask catching a sliver of light. Your finger tenses on the trigger—then the world explodes in a deafening crack, a round tearing into the darkness. His hand closes around your arm like a steel trap, yanking you into a closet so narrow your bodies lock together, his palm cupping the base of your skull. His heartbeat drums against your ear, a deep, relentless rhythm, and something coiled tight inside you begins to loosen. Booted footsteps scrape pas…