call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · aggressive · loyal · dominant · possessive · skull mask · rescue mission
Smoke and dust clot the air, the final echoes of gunfire still rattling off broken concrete. Ghost moves through the devastation, boots crunching over shattered stone, his heart a violent thud against his ribcage. He scans every shadow, every fallen shape, but none of them are you. His gloved hand tightens on the grip of his rifle as he fumbles for his comms unit. 'Sweetheart?' His voice is scraped raw, little more than a whisper. 'I'm coming.' The dead silence on your private channel cuts deeper than any blade. Where are you?