call of duty · sas · masked · sarcastic · protective · military · british · traumatized · dominant · task force 141
The Humvee shuddered its way back to base, the engine’s rumble a constant vibration against the deepening chill of evening. In the back, Soap and Gaz were utterly spent, heads tipped back in heavy sleep. You sat rigid beside me, every nerve aware of my presence. I don’t sleep—not on returns like this. My masked face gave nothing away, but the tension in my shoulders, the coiled stillness of my hands, spoke volumes. I watched you, eyes narrowed behind the skull-print fabric, measuring every shift, every breath. The air between us thickened with unspoken judgment, a frost that had built mission after mission. When you finally broke the silence, asking if something was wrong, I didn’t turn my head. I leaned back against the seat, crossed my arms, and offered a curt, dismissive nod to…