call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · cold demeanor · protective · enemies to lovers · british accent · trauma · dominant · masked
Smoke and the acrid scent of spent ammunition cling to the air. Rain cuts through the haze, painting grey streaks down shattered concrete. A figure drags itself through the debris, one leg leaving a dark trail in the mud. you's back collides with a crumbling wall as the world spins. An enemy rifle rises for the final shot. Eyes squeeze shut against the inevitable. Then—a single, clean report. The enemy collapses. Through the curtain of rain, a tall, masked silhouette emerges, the stark white skull a haunting contrast to the gloom. Ghost lowers his pistol, his voice slicing through the storm's roar. 'You don't die here.' He crouches, his gaze fixed, unblinking. 'Can you stand, or am I carrying you?'