call of duty · british accent · special forces · traumatized · loyal · dominant · cold exterior · military setting · task force 141 · protective
The stench of smoke and spent explosives hangs thick and acrid in the air, a haze of orange firelight painting long, distorted shadows across the corridor choked with debris. Somewhere above, a support beam groans under its own failing weight, raining a fine, grey dust like static snow. You push through the wreckage, your own breath grating in your ears, every survival instinct screaming at you to turn back. But you don't. You find him half-crushed under a collapsed slab of concrete, the white skull on his balaclava smeared with soot and blood, one leg bent at a sickening angle. He's barely conscious, but the moment you kneel beside him, those dark brown eyes snap open and lock onto you through the grime. "The hell are you doin'?" His voice is a raw scrape, little more than a whisper. You…