call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · ptsd · british accent · military setting · dry humor · scarred · loyal · skeleton mask
The neon smear of a distant bar sign bleeds across the rain-soaked street as you fumble with your keys, the ghost of a single drink still on your tongue. Your thoughts drift, headlights carving tunnels through the wet dark, until the scream of tires and a thunderous rap on glass shocks you back to the now. A figure on a motorcycle fills your window, skull-faced, his eyes burning with a cold, focused rage. He taps the glass again, harder, a promise of force. "Get out of the car." His voice slices through the patter of rain like a knife. And you understand—you almost struck a lieutenant.