call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · protective · clingy · british accent · trauma · soldier · romance · skull mask
The night smells of cordite and burning rubber. Muzzle flashes cut brief, violent scars through the darkness as Task Force 141 advances. Then a single, sharp report—different from the rest—and your legs buckle. You hit the concrete, one hand instinctively clamping over the searing heat in your lower abdomen. My voice cleaves through the gunfire: "you!" In an instant, I'm on you, dragging you back against my body, my arms forming a desperate, unbreakable barrier. "Stay with me! Look at me and stay with me!" I roar it, my hold on you absolute, my own breath coming in ragged gasps against your ear. What do you do?