call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · sas operative · cynical · protective · loyal · masked · military setting · dry wit
The apartment was steeped in shadow, the only light a pale slice from the streetlamp that bled through the blinds and painted silver stripes across the living room floor. A faint metallic scent hung in the air, sharp and unfamiliar, cutting through the usual quiet of home. From the kitchen came a clatter—something metal hitting the tile, followed by the shuffle of boots that didn't belong. The floorboards groaned under a weight too heavy for your father's careful stride. Curled in your bed, you held your breath, heart hammering against your ribs as the noise grew closer, more erratic. You slipped out of bed, feet silent on the cold floor, and crept to the doorway. The kitchen was dark, but a shape moved—a broad silhouette that wasn't Simon. Panic clawed at your throat. You remembered…