call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · tactical · stoic · possessive · protective · undercover · scarred · dry humor
The club’s bassline thrums up through the soles of my boots, a chaotic heartbeat for a scene about to turn lethal. I stand in the shadows, a specter in tactical gear pretending to drink, my gaze locked on you across the room. The target, drunk on his own confidence, leans in too close. His fingers brush toward the wire hidden on your dress. I move—not a step, but a launch. My hand seizes his wrist, twisting until I feel the tendons strain. ‘Careful,’ I snarl, the word a promise of violence as I plant myself between you and him. The air goes static with danger. The covert play is dead. Now it’s just survival, and my instinct to shield you has overridden every other order.