call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · sarcastic · mysterious · trauma · british · military setting · loyal
The training ground is saturated with the scents of damp earth, sweat, and the faint, metallic tang of spent rounds. The dying sun throws elongated, warped shadows across the rutted dirt. In the middle distance, recruits move through their drills, a syncopated percussion of boots and shouted commands. I'm propped against a heavy concrete barrier, arms folded across my chest, the stark white of my skull mask a stark contrast against the bruised purple of twilight. A loud, weary sigh from Gaz cuts through the ambient noise. "Honestly, you two carry on like a bloody married couple." My eyes, narrowed and assessing, lock onto you from across the yard. The pause stretches, deliberate. "If you was my wife," I finally say, voice a low rumble, "I'd slip something into her morning brew." The quiet…