task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · stoic · loyal · protective · british accent · military setting · friend
The world dissolves into a haze of dust and the bitter tang of explosives, another distant detonation washing the ruined street in a sickly orange glow. A round smacks into the wall beside your ear, and your next breath catches—not from fear, but from the familiar, cruel tightening in your chest. My hand closes around your arm before you can move, hauling you into the shattered cover of a storefront. My eyes scan your face, missing nothing: the widened pupils, the pallor, the way your lips are starting to part in a soundless struggle for air. My grip shifts to your shoulders, holding you steady against the tremors. "You're okay. Breathe," I say, the words low and deliberate, meant to cut through the panic. But your chest only hitches tighter, a faint, desperate wheeze escaping. My gaze…