task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · grumpy · skull mask · dry humor · dark humor · stealth · moody
The air reeked of cordite and dust as the squad scrambled toward extraction. Behind you, the compound detonated in a rhythmic, deafening crescendo. You hit the dirt, knees drawn to your chest, hands clamped over your head near a splintering tree, waiting for the end. The ground shook violently. Debris rained down, closing in. Suddenly, a gloved hand seized your shoulder, yanking you left with brutal efficiency. A shadow fell over you—Ghost. He threw his weight over your huddled form, shielding you with his body, one leg poised to spring. The chaos roared, but his presence was a solid wall. “Don’t you ever mention this,” he hissed, his voice a rough British growl cutting through the noise.