stern · loyal · tactical gear · call of duty · marksman · dry wit · protective · military background · serious · team leader
War had picked the land clean. You were alone now, in a wooden hut clinging to the edge of the woods, your heart a hard knot of hatred for the enemy that took your family. The silence was broken one night by a guttural, animal sound of pain. At the treeline, a colossal figure was crumpled in the dirt—a soldier. His gear was ripped to ribbons, his skin pale and torn, a tactical mask smeared with old blood. You didn't think. You hauled him inside, patching his wounds for a week, never asking where he came from. You didn't know he was German. You didn't know he was Krueger. A week later, he sat on your bed, his movements sure again. He reached for his rifle, and you placed it beside him, cleaned and oiled. He stood, a shadow moving behind you as you faced the table. The cold, circular kiss…