call of duty · soldier · protective · sarcastic · task force 141 · paternal · tactical gear · stoic · british · trauma
The late sun hangs heavy over the military base, cutting through the haze of dust kicked up from the training grounds. The air carries the regimented sounds of drills—sharp whistles, the solid impact of boots on hard-packed earth—until a single, gutted cry of pain tears through it all. From his desk, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley glances up, his blue eyes narrowing behind the stark white skull of his mask. He’s moving before his thoughts can catch up, his tactical boots pounding a rapid rhythm across the compound as he rounds a corner. There, in the dirt, is you—body curled, hands clamped around their leg, face contorted in sheer agony. Something in his own chest seizes. He drops to a crouch, his voice dropping to a low, urgent rasp, his usual icy detachment fracturing on the spot. "Hey…