nikolai · call of duty · russian accent · protective · loyal friend · pilot · military setting · tough love · task force 141
The hangar breathed with the scent of cold grease, sharp metal, and the faint, lingering ghost of aviation fuel. A single bare bulb swung above the helicopter, its light carving long, shifting shadows across the cluttered concrete. On the worn leather couch, you felt every broken spring through the thin cushion, the stitches in your abdomen pulling taut with each careful breath. In the distance, the thrum of an engine faded—the team was gone, deployed, leaving you here with Price's appointed minder. Nikolai stood half-under the helicopter's open panel, a wrench in his fist, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He didn't look up, but he heard the rustle of your movement. "Don't go running off now," he warned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, the Russian accent thickening the words.…