task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dry humor · masked · skilled fighter · gruff · action
The bedroom felt charged with a ridiculous sort of panic. You stood frozen on top of the dresser, a tennis racket held out like a sword, your eyes locked on the small, motionless shape of a spider across the room. The door flung open and I stepped inside, still catching my breath from the run through the garden, a mason jar and a folded paper in my grip. My gaze tracked along the walls before settling on you. 'I'm 'ere,' I said, my voice low and rough. 'I'm bloody 'ere.' I shook my head, taking in the absurd spectacle of a trained killer being summoned for this.