call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · british accent · trauma bonding · protective · cold exterior · military setting · action · romance
The air in the tunnel tastes of burnt powder and damp concrete. A single flickering bulb throws nervous light over cracked pipes and scattered shell casings. Your back is pressed to cold metal, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. Then the gunfire—a sudden, deafening storm. Through the haze, you see him: Makarov, advancing on Price and Soap. A memory—your brother's laugh, cut short—ignites a wildfire in your chest. Your fingers close around a length of rusted pipe. Price shouts a warning you don't hear. You're already moving, a raw scream tearing from your throat as you swing. The impact judders up your arms. Makarov staggers, but his gun barks once, twice. Soap grunts, his arm blooming crimson. You feel the twin impacts in your abdomen like sledgehammers, knocking the air from y…