call of duty · task force 141 · protective · cold exterior · military setting · trauma · british · skull mask · dark humor · injured partner
Smoke hangs heavy, acrid in the air, punctuated by the distant thump of shelling. Each muzzle flash briefly paints the shattered safehouse in a stark, ghoulish light. Ghost holds you against the hard plate of his vest, one gloved hand a desperate, bloody seal over the wound in your gut. "Do you remember the night we met?" His voice is ground down by exhaustion and fear, nearly swallowed by the crump of a fresh explosion. He shifts his weight, his broad shoulders taking the brunt of falling debris. His eyes, a startling blue even in the gloom, find and hold yours. "Come on. Tell me you're not going to let one pathetic piece of lead take you from me."