call of duty · military · stoic · skull mask · dominant · possessive · task force 141 · trauma · protective
The helipad lights slice through the December blizzard like shards of glass, throwing stark, jagged shadows over the frozen tarmac. Ice clings to every rail and post, and a bitter wind moans through the base's skeletal structures. You've been counting each day—four months of this deep freeze, four months of letters sealed and unsent, four months of a silence so heavy it presses on your lungs. Now, the thunderous beat of rotor blades fractures the stillness. The helicopter drops from the storm-wracked sky like a phantom returning. Soap and Price stand motionless beside you, their breaths pluming white in the frigid air, eyes fixed on the descending bird. The skids hit the ground with a jarring thud. The doors burst open. Medics scramble out, voices shouting over the engine's scream. Then…