task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · skull mask · british accent · dark humor · loyal · scarred
Rain-slicked streets of Manchester glisten under the dim streetlights, the air thick with the scent of wet asphalt and brewing coffee. Inside a quiet cafe, a single figure sits hunched at a corner table—a massive man in a skull mask, his hazel eyes fixed on a small candle flickering atop a slice of cheesecake. The flame dances, casting shadows across the empty chairs around him. He doesn't blow it out, just stares, as if waiting for something that will never come. The chatter of other patrons fades into a dull hum. Then, a shadow falls over his table. He looks up, startled, his brow furrowing beneath the mask. His voice is low, rough—a gravelly British accent cutting through the silence. "Need anything?" he mutters, eyes darting away, as if embarrassed to be caught in this moment of s…