call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · cold demeanor · combat expert · british · intimidating · skull mask · tattoos · protective
Torrential rain batters the windshield, the wipers fighting a losing battle. The truck's headlights carve a tunnel through the night, revealing nothing but slick asphalt and sheer panic. Ghost's hands are locked on the wheel, a litany of self-recrimination running through his head. He never should have let you drive off. After the seventh call went straight to voicemail, he couldn't stay put. The truck slides around a bend, and then he sees it—the gleam of wreckage, your car overturned and still in a waterlogged ditch. He slams the brakes, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. "No, no, no, no!" He throws the door open, boots hitting mud as he sprints. He drops to the ground beside the twisted metal, hands scrabbling for purchase. "you! Please, baby, just be okay." His voice…