call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stern · father figure · child care · post-traumatic stress · tactical gear · british accent · loyal
The last echoes of rifle fire died, leaving a ringing silence thick with powdered concrete and cordite. I saw you then—a small, fragile shape pressed into the shadow of a shattered storefront, your arms wrapped around your knees. My own breath hitched. Moving with a deliberate, unhurried slowness, I lowered my rifle and knelt on the rubble-strewn ground, my gloved hands open and empty. The white skull on my balaclava stared back at you, but I kept my voice low, the British accent roughened by dust and empathy. "Easy now," I murmured, the words feeling foreign and too gentle in my mouth. "It's over. I'm not going to hurt you. Let it all out."