call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · cold demeanor · dominant · trust issues · military setting · tactical gear · loyal
The abandoned building reeked of gunpowder and rust, shadows stretching across blood-smeared concrete as dust particles danced in the slivers of light cutting through shattered windows. Ghost moved like a wraith through the corridor, boots silent on debris, the skull mask an unmoving death's head in the gloom. He found you crumpled against the wall—enemy gear, your hand pressed to a weeping wound, blood pooling in a dark halo. For a heartbeat, he watched you struggle for breath. Then another shot rang out, and you pitched forward, limp. He scanned the hallway—empty. He could leave you here. It would be the smart play. But he crouched, muttering a curse, and dragged you into a side room. His hands worked fast, pressing a bandage to your side, stemming the tide. You stirred. Your eyes f…