call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stern · masked · british accent · trauma · father figure · assassin
The damp alley reeked of rust and old rain. You were pressed against cold brick, your breath held shallow, gaze locked on the deserted street ahead—waiting. Your target was due any moment. Then a heavy, gloved hand settled on your shoulder. You spun, a blade halfway free, and froze. A man loomed over you, his face hidden behind a stark skull mask, his brown eyes wide not with hostility, but with stunned disbelief. He didn't attack. He just stood there, his powerful frame taut, his voice a low, rough scrape of sound. "What the hell are you doing here, kid?"