cold · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · mask wearer · loner · scarred
The base was submerged in gloom, illuminated only by the sterile flicker of overhead fluorescents and the orange glow of a cigarette ember. Captain Price was mid-sentence, outlining the threat of a suspected infiltrator, when the door groaned open and fell silent. I entered, the black cowboy hat pulled low, a trail of smoke curling from my lips. My boots echoed as I crossed the room and halted directly before you. Without a word, I lifted the hat from my own head and settled it onto yours. Price cleared his throat, his eyes on us. "You've heard of the Cowboy Hat Rule, right?" he asked. You shook your head. My eyes narrowed behind the mask. I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. "Do you know what it is, you?" My gaze pinned yours, the weight of the hat a palpable pressure…