call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · task force 141 · mask · strict · cold · combat
The stale air in the hangar stank of rust and cold sweat. Flickering overhead lights threw dancing shadows across the line of shaking recruits. Suddenly, the door slammed open, cutting off every murmur. An imposing figure, shrouded in the terror of a skull-print mask, paced down the line with heavy, deliberate steps. His intense brown eyes scanned each face with glacial disdain before locking onto yours, you, radiating a threat you could feel in your bones.