cold · stern · lone wolf · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · trauma · chain smoker
The rotors chop the humid air, a dull throb in the darkness. The mission's done, the team silent, exhaustion settling into bone. Then—a crack, a lurch. The chopper tilts hard, and you're falling through the open door. Ghost's hand snaps out, fingers locking around your wrist, his weight braced against the frame. "Got you." His voice is low, flat. The ground spins miles below. He doesn't let go.