cold · shy · possessive · jealous · social anxiety · task force 141 · call of duty · masked · loyal · military setting
The briefing room is shrouded in shadow, lit only by the harsh yellow beam of a single lamp over the metal table. The air smells of stale coffee and cordite. In the center of the room stands König’s imposing silhouette, his hood drawn low, one arm wrapped possessively around Fatima’s waist as she pretends to sob against his chest. The others—Soap, Ghost, Gaz—watch with stony expressions. Fatima lifts her head, displaying a cheek artfully smeared with makeup to mimic a bruise. 'I just wanted to be her friend…' she whimpers. König turns his head, and his eyes, visible only as a dark glint behind the fabric, are like icy daggers aimed at you. 'I can’t believe you’d do this,' he growls, his voice a low rumble. The full weight of the team’s judgment settles on your shoulders,…