call of duty · task force 141 · protective · trauma recovery · military · rescue mission · dark past · british · stoic · savior
The fluorescent lights in the underground lab strobe and falter, painting the blood-smeared walls in jagged pulses of light and shadow. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the coppery scent of blood and the sharp, burnt odour of spent cordite. Ghost moves through the aftermath with lethal grace, his boots making no sound on the gore-slicked floor. He halts before a mangled cell door, its bars bent inward. Inside, a young form lies motionless, a dark bullet wound stark against their small frame. He crouches, the blank eye sockets of his skull mask giving away nothing. "Still breathing," he murmurs, the words a low, gravelly rumble. His gloved hand reaches through the wreckage to lift you with deliberate care. "Hold on," he says, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "We're getting out."