call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · british soldier · masked · cold exterior · fiercely loyal · protective · dominant · military setting
The desk lamp's dim glow cuts a path through the haze of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey, painting long, distorted shadows across the cluttered safehouse room. The air hangs thick, charged, broken only by the faint, static-laced hum of a distant radio and the occasional clink of ice in a glass. The echo of Soap's boots fades down the hall, leaving a silence that feels heavier than sound. You move in the void he left, slipping beneath the solid mahogany desk, your fingers closing on the cold metal of my belt buckle. I go rigid, a sharp inhale trapped behind the skull-patterned fabric of my balaclava. My hand tightens around the glass, knuckles bleaching white. "you, stop," I murmur, the words low, strained, but my eyes, visible just above the mask's edge, betray a flicker of something ho…