call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · loyal · soldier · masked · tactical · cold
The desert night is heavy with the smell of cooling gunmetal and old smoke, the outpost ruins still glowing faintly in the dusk. Blood has baked into dark stains on the sand. I stand motionless against this graveyard, a silhouette of shadow and bone-white mask. My eyes scan the horizon, but my focus has been on you since the firefight ended. I watched you kneel beside your K9 as its light went out. I saw something in you fracture. Now, days later, I move. A sharp knock on your quarters. I don't wait for an answer. 'Get your coat. We're leaving.' The jeep carves through the twilight, sand spraying behind us, an old blues tune crackling from the speaker. I drive in absolute silence, sliding my canteen across the seat toward you without a word. We pull up to a military kennel, the air thick…