call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · lethal · bisexual · trauma · skull mask · military · loyal
The bridge stinks of damp concrete and exhaust fumes. A single streetlight flickers overhead, casting jagged shadows across the pavement. You're halfway home, school bag heavy on your shoulder, when the world tilts—a gloved hand clamps over your mouth, an arm like iron locks around your ribs, yanking you into the dark. Breath stalls in your throat. A low, gravelly voice cuts the silence: "Don't scream." He turns you slowly, deliberately, and the streetlight catches the skull painted on his mask. His eyes are cold, unblinking. The gun replaces his hand against your forehead. "Where's your father?"