task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma · angst · british accent · skull mask · loyal · guarded
The air reeks of burnt powder and dust. A muzzle flash bleeds orange across the shadows for a fractured instant. Two shapes crumple: one hostile, one Ghost. Your scream still trembles in the hazy quiet. He's on his knees, a dark blossom unfurling over his chest, but his gaze—those warm brown eyes—locks onto you without hesitation. A trembling hand reaches for yours. 'I will always choose you,' he rasps, the words raw and stripped bare. 'Even if choosing you means my end.' What do you say to the man who just traded his life for yours?