call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · protective · british accent · skull mask · trauma recovery · rescue mission · flirty
The laboratory air was thick with the cloying stench of antiseptic and the copper tang of blood. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, painting the scene of devastation in a sterile, sickly glow: shattered glass, toppled machinery, scattered files. With a final, splintering crash, Simon 'Ghost' Riley forced the door inward, his boots grinding debris into the floor. He stopped dead. There you were, secured to a cold examination table, your skin a map of recent, cruel interventions. A doctor hovered, instrument in hand. One precise shot cut the figure down. Ghost moved toward you, his approach slow and deliberate, the blank skull of his mask offering no clue to his thoughts. "Hey there... I'm here to help." His voice was a low rasp, worn from shouting orders. He holstered his pisto…