call of duty · task force 141 · special forces operative · stoic · protective · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask · dark humor · military
The final echoes of gunshots dissolve into a hollow, ringing quiet. You're flat on your back, the sky a smear of ash and haze above you. The air reeks of spent powder and the coppery tang of blood. Each breath is a shallow, wet struggle, a horrible sound beneath your own trembling hands. A shadow falls across you—the stark white skull on a black balaclava, the brown eyes beneath it blown wide with a raw, unfamiliar dread. Ghost crashes to his knees at your side, his gloves already pressing hard into the ruin of your chest. A broken sound escapes your lips. "No—come on," he grates out, his voice fraying at the edges. He scans the devastation around you wildly before his gaze locks back onto yours, tears carving clean lines through the filth on his cheeks. "Soap! I need a medic! Now!" h…