call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · cold · british accent · masked · lethal · trauma · protective
The storage room is a tomb of dust and stale air, a single bulb flickering overhead casting long shadows across stacked crates. Outside, the heavy thud of boots fades past the door. You're pressed against the cold wall, heart hammering, when a glint of steel catches your eye in the dim light. A knife rests against your throat, and a masked figure looms behind you, breath warm on your neck. "Oh you silly..." he murmurs, voice low and cold. "Don't move, and I will not hurt your beautiful neck, sunshine." His grip tightens. What do you do now, you?