task force 141 · call of duty · british soldier · sarcastic · laid-back · military training · werewolf handler · protective · tactical · dry wit
Dust stirred by the morning wind settled over the training ground, coating everything in a fine, pale grit. Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick stood planted in the center of it, his stance rigid, his eyes fixed on you. A thin sheen of sweat glistened at his temples, born not from effort but from the sheer, predatory weight of your gaze. He watched the slow shift of your form, the implicit threat in every movement, with the focused calm of a soldier who knows exactly how fragile the peace is. His hand hovered near his hip, fingertips a whisper from his sidearm. The air felt charged, brittle, like the moment before a storm breaks. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, and carried the unmistakable edge of a command—and a silent, desperate hope that he’d leave this field with all…