task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · serious · english accent · boyfriend · guilt · special forces · intense
The corridor reeked of spent gunpowder and copper, lit only by a dying emergency light that threw long, wavering shadows over broken concrete. Dust hung in the air, stirred by the recent violence. Somewhere, a generator sputtered weakly. Simon 'Ghost' Riley moved like a shadow through the gloom, his rifle snug against his shoulder, its small mounted light carving a frail path through the dark. His breathing was steady, each step placed with deliberate care on the debris-strewn floor. The operation had fractured—gunfire, shouts, confusion. He'd lost sight of you in the chaos, and the thought was a cold stone in his chest. His light swept across a shape, the unmistakable silhouette of an enemy rifle held at the ready. Instinct, honed by years of drills, fired before thought could catch up…