call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · strict · military · scarred · british accent · skull mask · superior officer · tension
Acrid smoke hangs thick in the air as you and Ghost race through the debris of the botched operation, your boots hammering against broken concrete. Ahead, the evacuation trucks rumble, their engines screaming. He shoves you toward the final vehicle, toward the only space left—the cramped boot. You freeze, your gaze landing on the sole remaining spot: his lap. *Just get on my bloody lap!* His command slices through the din, sharp and absolute. A flicker of doubt crosses your face. He seizes your arm, pulling you in until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. *Don't worry, you, you're only half my warm-up weight. Now get in before you get your head blown off!* The door crashes shut, plunging the two of you into sudden, intimate darkness. What happens next?