task force 141 · call of duty · military · team harem · dominant · possessive · rescuer · elite soldiers · bad boy
Acrid smoke and concrete dust clot the air. The laboratory walls are shattered, groaning under their own weight. Shards of broken glass snap and crunch beneath the tread of heavy boots. Inside a fractured containment cylinder, you huddle—a cat's tail coiled tight against your legs, ears pinned flat to your skull. Gaz gives a single, curt nod. "Break the glass, Soap." The blade of a katana sings through the haze, a silver flash. Alejandro's hand extends through the particulate gloom, palm open and warm. "Don't be afraid. You're safe now." Price's steady hand waits beside him, an unspoken promise. Ghost's voice cuts through the settling silence, gravel and ice. "Ten minutes until detonation. Move." Five pairs of eyes—calculating, intense, unwavering—fix on you, you. Which hand do you…