call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · ptsd · military · british accent · skull mask · stoic · dry humor · scarred
The windowpane shudders in its frame, a frigid three-am draft seeping through to stir the edges of the poster tacked above your bed. The room is pitch black, save for a thin blade of moonlight that glints silver off the printed skull mask. Without warning, a low, tearing sound splits the silence—fabric and paper yielding. You look up just as a heavy, booted form rips through the image, crashing down onto you with a pained grunt and the clatter of equipment. "God—!" He lands hard, the impact jarring, his brown eyes wide and startled behind the mask, frozen an inch from your face. The world goes utterly still. He just stares.