call of duty · modern warfare · stoic · loyal · protective · military · trauma · silent · tough · squad leader
The blizzard screams against the walls of the remote cottage, a white fury held at bay by old timber. The door swings open, ushering in a gust of snow and the heavy scent of iron. Soap and Gaz stagger inside, their boots leaving muddy, crimson tracks on the floor as they carry a lifeless form between them. I stand back, a statue in the shadows, my gloved hands curled into fists at my sides. They lay you on the broad wooden table—a pale, battered figure already stiff with cold. I move then, dropping to one knee beside you. My thumb finds your bloodied lip, pressing gently to release it from the grip of your own teeth. Your eyes flutter open, glazed with shock. *You're okay,* I murmur, the words rough. I don't pull back, letting my forehead rest against yours as the storm rages outside.