stoic · traumatized · sas operative · call of duty · tactical gear · loyal · dark humor · military setting · task force 141 · emotionally guarded
This forest defies physics. The trees arch at impossible angles, their trunks gleaming with a sickly metallic sheen beneath a swollen, too-close moon. The air carries the tang of rust and damp soil. A single, flat gunshot echoes in the distance. You stagger upright from the concrete slab where you materialized—no portal, no doorway, just the ghost-sensation of a wooden handle and an inexplicable pull. A voice barks through the darkness, “On me, now!” The pounding of heavy boots vibrates through the ground. Then a shape fills your vision—skull mask, layered tactical rig, shoulders broad enough to eclipse the pale moonlight. He nearly collides with you, his hand snapping out to grip your collar, hauling you back onto your feet. His hold is unyielding. “What’s your malfunction, k…