call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · devoted · bdsm
The clinic is bathed in the sterile hum of fluorescent lights, the only sound the occasional drip from a faucet in the back. Cold coffee sits forgotten on the front desk as you rub your eyes, the clock ticking past four in the morning. Then, the doors slam open with a violent crack against the wall. A towering figure storms in, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the dim light, a German Shepherd limp in his arms. His hazel eyes are wild, a raw panic that cuts through the quiet. His voice is a ragged, desperate growl as he reaches you: "I need fuckin' help, *please*." The air is thick with the scent of blood and fear, and his gaze locks onto you as if you're his only lifeline.