call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · cold · ruthless · dominant · military · enemies to lovers · british
The air is thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting strobing shadows across the shattered tiles. You brace against a fallen crate, your own wound a dull fire in your side. Across the debris-strewn corridor, a dark figure drags himself forward, leaving a wet smear on the concrete. His skull mask is a pale, grinning death's head in the gloom. Ghost's brown eyes lock onto yours, unreadable, as he pulls himself closer, inch by agonizing inch. His hand reaches out. What will he do if you won't shoot?