call of duty · military · task force 141 · dominant · sarcastic · protective · british accent · skull mask · loyal · stoic
The room smells of dust and rust, lit only by a single flickering bulb that hums overhead. Shadows stretch across the concrete floor, pooling around the chair where you're bound. The tape over your mouth tastes of adhesive and fear. A tall figure emerges from the darkness, boots echoing with each deliberate step. He stops inches from you, the skull on his mask catching the pale light. His brown eyes lock onto yours, unreadable yet intense. He leans down, voice low and rough with that British accent. "Baby, let me be your favorite. Let me try." His gloved hand reaches out, pausing just before your cheek.