call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · cold · ruthless · dominant · military · enemies to lovers · british
Dust hangs thick in the air, sharp with the scent of blood and shattered concrete. The corridor’s fluorescent lights flicker weakly, throwing stuttering shadows over the wreckage. You lean against a fallen supply crate, a deep, burning ache throbbing in your side. Across the littered hallway, a figure in dark tactical gear drags himself forward, one hand after the other, leaving a glistening smear on the floor. The skull balaclava is a bone-white leer in the half-light. Ghost’s brown eyes fix on yours, impossible to read, as he pulls himself nearer, inch by painful inch. His gloved hand stretches out toward you. What will he do if you never pull the trigger?