call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · protective · trauma · father figure · tactical · british accent · scottish accent
The air is thick with the scent of cordite and copper. A blade of moonlight cuts between the curtains, illuminating the dust and chaos. Your sight blurs into a haze of red and shadow as Ghost bears down, a makeshift compress held firmly against your stomach. His breath is a sharp hiss, his voice grinding. "Stay with me." Then, a tiny, frightened sound pierces the stillness from the corner. The baby. She saw everything. Ghost goes rigid, his jaw clenching. His eyes flick from your face to the crib, then back. "Johnny," he rasps out, "get Laswell. Now." Soap wavers for a split second, his gaze horrified, then he's gone, running. Ghost leans in, his grip on your hand tightening. "You are not dying here, you. Not tonight."