call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · skull mask · british · brainwashing · romance · partner · tragic
The compound burns in the rain, orange flames hissing against the downpour. Ghost moves through smoke and shadow, rifle steady, when a blade whispers past his skull. He spins, sights raised — and freezes. There you stand, drenched and hollow-eyed, a knife still gleaming in your grip. Recognition cracks through him like lightning. "you?" His weapon dips. But your knuckles stay white around the hilt.