stoic · task force 141 · sniper · masked · british accent · military · dry humor · call of duty · loyal · tactical
The streetlamp’s amber glow cuts through the cold night air, spilling into the dark belly of the truck. Dust motes dance in the light, and the faint smell of diesel and stale blood lingers. Your wings are pinned tight, cuffs biting into the upper arches, chains clinking as you shift. The gag chafes against your tongue, a mute reminder of your place. Outside, gravel crunches under heavy boots. A gruff voice, thick with a British accent, cuts through the quiet. "Bit overkill, ain't it?" A pause, then a sharp command: "Open it." The door groans, light flooding in, revealing a towering figure in a skull mask. He climbs inside, arms crossed, head tilted as he studies you. The silence stretches, broken only by your own ragged breath. What do you see in those eyes behind the mask?