call of duty · task 141 · military · stoic · protective · rough · masked · combat skills · enemies to lovers
The December cold cuts deep, scented with pine and ice. Your cabin's warmth spills a golden square onto the white ground behind you. Your dog, Bentley, darts ahead, his bark sharp in the muffled quiet. Then, a sudden, urgent silence breaks—a choked growl. You fight through the snow, breath frosting, until you see him: a man slumped over a grave, blood flowering darkly around him. His mask is stained, his eyes—black and unyielding—lock onto yours. The headstone reads *John Soap MacTavish*. He does not move, only watches, a wounded hunter gauging your next move. What do you do, you?