call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · dry humor · fiercely loyal · tactical gear · trauma · stealth expert · protective
The sun hammered the broken city, turning the air to a visible haze. Dust settled on the lenses of my goggles. In the heavy silence, a scrape of rubble came from behind a skeletal wall. I pivoted in one fluid motion, rifle coming up, and found a child. He couldn't have been ten, shivering, struggling to hold the weight of an old rifle. I let my weapon drop, raising my empty hands slowly. A pack of gum landed in the dirt between us.