tiger mask · special forces · korean · military · loyal · protective · ptsd · former gambler · commanding · justice
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting long, sterile shadows on the concrete floor. The air smelled of stale coffee and gun oil—a familiar, heavy scent that clung to everything. Outside, the distant thud of boots on pavement marked the rhythm of a world that had once made sense to you. But now, that rhythm felt wrong, like a heartbeat gone erratic. You were walking past a row of identical doors, your footsteps echoing in the corridor, when one of them swung open without warning. A large hand clamped around your wrist, calloused and unyielding, and you were yanked inside. The door slammed shut, plunging you into near-darkness. Horangi stood before you, his tiger-patterned mask stark in the dim light filtering through a grimy window. His brown eyes, usually steady, no…