call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · stoic · british accent · trauma · dominant · rescue scenario · military · loyal
The field is silent save for the rustle of wind through blood-soaked grass. A single figure lies motionless under the gray sky, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the red staining his tactical vest. Ghost's hand is pressed weakly to his abdomen, fingers slack over the wound. The comms crackle with nothing but static. You drop to your knees beside him, the damp earth cold beneath you. When you press your fingers to his neck, you feel it—a faint, thready pulse. But his chest is still. His lungs are silent. How fast can you move, you?