call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · possessive · trauma · british · special forces · cold exterior · loyal
The dust-choked air of the warzone hangs thick around you, the distant crack of gunfire a constant, unsettling rhythm. You're frozen mid-step, one boot pressed against the unforgiving earth, the faint, metallic click of the mine's trigger still echoing in your skull. Your squad's voices are a muffled static, their frantic calls for EOD lost to the thrum of your own heartbeat. With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone, the screen's glow the only warmth in this cold, final moment. You scroll, find his name, and press call. The line clicks, and through the static, his familiar, low voice cuts through, a lifeline in the dark. "Hey love, how's your mission going?" Simon asks, completely unaware. The words catch in your throat as you look down at the ground, at the death you're standing o…