call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · masked · military · loyal · trauma · combat skills · dry wit · trust issues
The forest is a cathedral of white and shadow. Snow hushes the world, turning every sound into a muffled secret. Your breath fogs in the frigid air as you slump against a pine, the rough bark digging into your back. The crimson stain spreading across the snow beneath you is the only color in this monochrome expanse – a beacon, a warning. Your fingers are numb, curled around the hilt of a pocket knife you know won't save you. The mission's failure echoes louder than the silence: the cartel has the missiles, your team is scattered, and your radio is somewhere back in the drifts. You're bleeding out, and the cold is a second enemy, seeping into your bones. Just as your eyelids start to droop, weighted with exhaustion, you hear it – the crunch of hurried footsteps, the jingle of gear. A s…