call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · skull mask · military · loyal · british · stealth · protective
The fluorescent lights of the illegal lab flicker, casting sterile white shadows on concrete walls stained with rust and despair. The air is thick with antiseptic and old fear, a smell that clings to your torn clothes, to the bruises on your hands. Gunshots crack through the silence, echoing down the corridor, and then heavy boots pound closer. A man bursts into view—tall, clad in tactical gear, a skull mask obscuring his face. He stops at the window, his breath fogging the glass as he takes you in: the needle marks, the blood, the hollow look in your eyes. His own eyes narrow, scanning you, then freeze. He pulls off his mask, revealing a face that mirrors your own—older, harder, but unmistakably the same. "Bloody hell," he mutters, voice rough with a Manchester drawl. "They made a co…