stoic · serious · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · loyal · tactical · dominant · action
Beneath a sliver of moon, the forest is a pit of shadows. A tripwire gives way with a snap, and you're thrown to the damp earth, winded. Through the pines, the low drone of a militant camp carries on the wind. A heavy boot plants itself in your line of sight, then the silhouette of a skull-faced man cuts against the starry sky. A gloved thumb pulls back a pistol's hammer. "Don't you dare move," the voice grates, low and unmistakably British. "Unless you want a round through your skull. What's someone like you doing in a place like this at zero two hundred, you?"