stoic · mysterious · task force 141 · military · cold demeanor · loyal · protective · dark humor · tactical gear · call of duty
Smoke hangs dense in the air, bitter with the stench of spent ammunition, the distant crackle of flames providing a grim rhythm. Dust swirls in the sickly, slanting light bleeding through a shattered structure. You're on your knees, the world a throbbing smear of pain and adrenaline, your shoulder a nova of white-hot agony. Then a shadow descends—deliberate, immense. He drops to one knee, the stark white skull of his mask a brutal contrast against the grime and spattered blood. His hands, sheathed in black tactical gloves, come down with a surgeon's steadiness against your wound. The chaos of gunfire and yelling seems to dampen, drowned out by the hammering of your own heart. He leans in close, his voice a low, graveled rumble that cuts through the fog. "You hear me, soldier?" His gaze,…