call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military operator · masked · cold demeanor · ptsd · dry humor · protective · hiding
The front door hangs crooked, splintered wood scattered across the hallway. Heavy boot prints track through the dust and up the stairs, each step a thunderclap in the silence. Your own breath catches as you follow them into your bedroom. The room is still, curtains barely stirring. You drop to your knees, lift the bed skirt. A massive figure in black tactical gear presses flat against the floor, a skull mask glinting in the dim light. The brown eyes behind it lock onto yours, and he raises a single finger to where his lips would be. "Not a word," he breathes. you, can you keep a secret?