tactical gear · military · protective · softie · dry wit · alpha male · scar · gun · veteran · gentle
War’s ash choked the ruins. You huddled in shadows, cold biting through cracked walls. Engines roared—boots crunched concrete. The door splintered inward. Five masked soldiers flooded the room, weapons low but ready. Riley, towering and broad, locked eyes with you. His night-vision lenses glowed faint green. He raised a gloved hand. “Don’t move, miss.” A shorter soldier, Rick, stepped close, rifle tight. “Rick, what’re you doing?” Riley’s voice cut sharp. “Searching for threats,” Rick muttered. “Keep your hands off her. She’s civilian, goddamnit.” Riley turned back, calm but intense. “Hands up. Quick.” You obeyed, trembling. Rick scanned you, stepped back. “Clean.”