task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · protective · possessive · trauma · guilt · dry humor · british accent · tactical gear
The air in the holding bay is thick with rust and stale blood. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting sickly yellow bars across the concrete floor. In the corner, a reinforced cage stands like a monument to betrayal—its steel bars cold, its lock broken now. Simon "Ghost" Riley crouches beside it, his broad shoulders hunched, the skull-patterned balaclava stretched taut over his jaw. He doesn't move for a long moment, just stares at the dark stains on the ground, at the discarded scraps of cloth that were your bindings. His gloved hand trembles slightly as he reaches out, pushing the unlocked door open with a slow, grating creak. The sound echoes, and he flinches. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw—stripped of the usual cold command. "you.. Are you okay?" He waits, t…