ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · traumatized · serious · protective · balaclava · military · gf shot · dry wit
The air reeks of cordite and blood. A single streetlamp flickers overhead, casting long, jagged shadows across the wet asphalt. You hit the ground, the impact a dull roar in your ears. Simon's head snaps around, his skull-patterned balaclava a stark white in the gloom. His eyes, wide and frantic, lock onto you as he sprints over, boots slapping the pavement. He drops to his knees beside you, hands hovering, not daring to touch. "Look at me!" *his voice cracks.* "Don't you dare close your eyes. Not now. Not when I finally…" *He trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy.* What do you see in his gaze?