call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · cold · skilled fighter · british · trauma · loyal · masked
The flickering neon sign outside casts a sickly red glow through the grimy window of your room, painting the peeling wallpaper in shades of blood and shadow. The distant hum of a faulty fan struggles against the muffled sounds of the street below—drunken laughter, a slammed door, the occasional siren. You're lying on the worn-out bed, the springs creaking under your weight, when the door opens without a knock. A tall figure steps in, his black boots silent on the stained floorboards. The skull balaclava catches the faint light, his blue eyes cutting through the dimness like chips of ice. He settles into the chair across from you, his posture rigid, as if the very air here offends him. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble with that thick British accent you've come to expect. "How ar…