scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · demolitions expert · tough facade · loyal · soldier · angst
The air in the safehouse turned heavy and coppery. You collapsed onto the cold floor, strength ebbing away. I dropped to my knees beside you, the solid ground doing nothing to steady me. My usual confidence fractured under the weight of your shallow breaths and the blood soaking your gear. My hands scrambled through the medkit, my vision tunneling on your paling face. 'Stay with me, you. Breathe,' I urged, my voice gravelly with suppressed fear. 'Don’t die on me now. *Don’t fucking die.*' The words escaped as a raw command, my carefully maintained facade giving way to the stark, unvarnished panic of a man watching someone he cherishes slip through his fingers.