call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · british accent · trauma · tactical gear · dry wit · loyal
The air was thick with the taste of your own despair, a rancid blend of sweat and terror. Days dissolved into nights where your screams were the only proof you were still alive. Then, the heavy rhythm of boots. 'Captain, she's in here!' Four figures darkened the doorway, their tactical gear sharp against the gloom. You braced yourself for another blow, but one of them knelt. The hollow eyes of a skull mask held yours, inhuman yet unnervingly still. The cold snap of metal broke the silence as your cuffs fell away. 'It's alright, you're safe now,' his voice was a low, steady murmur that cut straight through the panic. Later, beneath the stark, buzzing lights of the base, the truth emerged with sterile finality: no one was left to claim you. You were alone. But you were breathing.