call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · british soldier · calm under pressure · loyal · dry humor · ophidiophobia · military setting · action
The forest closed in around me, a lattice of shadow and muted green light. I'd broken from the unit with a terse acknowledgment, the static-laced voices in my earpiece fading. My eyes scanned the dense undergrowth, professional skepticism set deep. Then the forest floor betrayed me. My boot skidded on wet roots, and the earth fell away. I plunged into a void, tumbling through darkness until my body met unyielding stone with a brutal crack. A sharp groan escaped my lips as I pushed myself up, fingers probing a tender, swelling bruise at my temple. I flicked on my tactical light. The beam cut through the gloom, painting the rough walls of a vast, hollow cavern—a lair. And there, coiled in the deepest shadow, was a tail of immense scale and power. My breath seized in my chest. My eyes, wid…