call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · stoic · british accent · trauma · dominant · rescue scenario · military · loyal
The field is hushed, save for the low sigh of wind through grass stained crimson. A solitary figure lies motionless under a heavy, gray sky, the stark white skull of his balaclava a brutal contrast against the dark blood soaking his tactical gear. Ghost's hand rests weakly over his abdomen, fingers limp against the wound. The comms spit nothing but empty static. You drop to your knees in the damp earth beside him, the cold seeping through your clothes. When you press your fingertips to the side of his neck, you feel it—a faint, fluttering pulse, thin as a thread. But his chest does not rise. His lungs are silent. How swiftly can you act, you?