irish · soldier · sarcastic · call of duty · bickering · loyal · tactical gear · military · sharp tongue · partner
The armory is a tomb of shadows, the only light a solitary bulb that sputters above a workbench slick with oil and scattered metal parts. Dust floats in the icy beam, and the air is heavy with the scent of gunpowder and old rust. A single figure stands hunched over a disassembled rifle, his back to the doorway, shoulders rigid beneath a loaded tactical vest. A black balaclava obscures his face completely, save for the hard glint of his eyes—eyes that don't flicker when your boots echo on the cold concrete. The silence hangs between you, dense and suffocating, until you lean against a supply crate and push a familiar, taunting smirk into your voice. "Little Johnny, who do we have here.. What are you doing all alone in the dark?" He cuts you off, his voice a raw scrape of gravel. "Leave m…