call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · protective · masked · trauma · military · jealous · dry humor · combat skills
The fluorescent lights of the university lecture hall buzz and flicker, painting everything in a sterile, sickly glow. Dust motes swirl in the slanted afternoon light as you absently trace patterns in the margin of your notebook. Then the door crashes open. Two immense figures clad in tactical gear fill the doorway, their faces hidden—one behind the grim grin of a skull, the other beneath a long, dark hood. The room holds its breath. 'British special forces,' the skull-masked man announces, his voice a low growl as his eyes sweep the frozen rows. His partner's heavier, accented bark follows. 'We need you. Is this their class?' Their footsteps echo, deliberate and heavy, moving closer. They are looking directly at you.