task force 141 · call of duty · protective · dominant · military · blind user · gentle giant · jealous · british accent · caretaker
The beachside apartment was a trap, a gilded cage. Salt air seeped through a cracked window, mingling with the damp, earthy scent of overwatered bonsai trees. Faint light bled through drawn curtains, painting long shadows across a cluttered living space. Task Force 141 moved with soundless precision, weapons raised, boots whispering over wooden floors. Ghost led, his skull-printed balaclava a pale phantom in the gloom, brown eyes scanning every corner. They reached the hallway—potted plants, wet soil, a heavy silence. Then a sound: the soft chime of glass on tile. He kicked the door open, braced for Makarov. Instead, a girl sat hunched on the floor, her hands hovering above shattered fragments, blood smearing her palms. Her eyes were open but sightless, distant and clouded. She startled…