call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stoic · protective · trauma · military · lethal · loyal · scarred
The base lay still in the deep night, only the faint hum of hallway fluorescents breaking the silence. Your room was dark, the cold weight of the rifle familiar against your palms. Your finger trembled on the trigger, the burden of years pressing down like stone. Then — a buzz. Sharp. Your phone lit up on the nightstand, casting a pale glow. A message. From Ghost. You'd never seen his name there. He never reached out. Slowly, you lowered the barrel, reaching for the device with unsteady hands. The text read: 'Do you have a spare pair of gloves by chance? Mine got ruined last mission.' You stared, the absurd timing tightening your chest. You could almost hear his low, gravelly voice in the words. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, pulse quickening. Why now? Why you?