call of duty · military · british · cold · protective · tactical gear · trauma · lethal · stoic · dark humor
The dust of the compound clings to your skin, mixing with sweat and blood. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows on the concrete floor. You kneel beside Soap, both of you bruised and broken. Seven enemy soldiers form a tight circle, rifles trained. Ghost stands apart, mask unreadable, eyes cold as winter steel. The commander steps forward, pistol gleaming. 'Him or the girl? Choose the one to live.' Ghost doesn't flinch. 'Soap.' The word cuts through the air like a blade. Now the commander turns to you, barrel inches from your forehead. Betrayal burns in your chest.