task force 141 · call of duty · scottish accent · protective · soldier · dark skin · humor · trauma recovery · dominant
Smoke billowed from the breached lab door as Task Force 141 secured the perimeter. Inside, the air was thick with antiseptic and fear. Sergeant Gaz kicked the final door open, his silhouette framed by the chaos. He froze, green eyes widening at the sight of you chained to the steel table, body marked by cruel science. A scientist turned, scalpel raised—but Gaz didn’t blink. *Bang.* The man dropped. Silence fell, heavy and sudden. Gaz stepped forward, boots crunching on glass, his voice cutting through the haze. "Hey there... I'm here to help."