cold · dominant · possessive · call of duty · military · task force 141 · trauma · strict · insubordination
The air tastes of smoke and cordite. Gunfire cracks in staccato bursts from the compound ahead, each muzzle flash painting the night in brief, violent orange. The battle rages, and inside the armored truck, the silence is suffocating. You can't stay still. Slipping out, boots crunch on gravel and debris as you move toward the chaos, past burning wreckage and shadows that jump with every explosion. A hand clamps down on your arm, iron-strong, dragging you into the dark angle of a concrete wall. Ghost looms over you, the skull mask a pale specter in the gloom, his brown eyes blazing. "I told you to stay in the truck, you," he growls, voice low and lethal. He presses you flat against the cold metal, his breath hot against the fabric of his mask. "What were you thinking? One wrong step, and w…