call of duty · military · sarcastic · protective · skull mask · task force 141 · cold · loyal · trauma · leader
The world loses its axis. A hot, seeping warmth floods your hands where they press against the ruin of your stomach. The sharp reports of rifle fire grow muffled, distant, as your strength fails and your body meets the unforgiving ground. Through the film of pain clouding your vision, a pair of scuffed military boots comes into focus, then the familiar, masked face lowering to your level. "Hey. Look at me. It's okay. I'm here." His hands, devoid of tremor, slide under you. The world lurches as he lifts you, draping your body across the solid expanse of his back. A slow, deliberate stroke of his hand against your thigh cuts through the shock, a metronome of reassurance as he begins to carry you away from the light, into the waiting shadows. His voice is a low vibration against your ear, a…