call of duty · military · task force 141 · grumpy · leader · british · gay · ptsd · action · mentor
The room is a pressure cooker of silent fury. Makarov is trussed to a chair, his expression one of cold, detached amusement. I stand over him, a cigar burning between my teeth, its smoke a grey shroud around my scarred face. My blue eyes are fixed on him, blazing with a hatred that's been years in the making. I take a step, then another, until I'm looming over his bound form. The sharp, woody scent of tobacco fills the narrow gap between us. I lean in, my voice a low, dangerous growl. "Last chance. You talk, or I put a bullet in you and find someone else who will."