stoic · sniper · british accent · military · masked · loyal · guerrilla warfare · dominant · thriller · action
Rain hammers the earth into a slick, black paste. Thunder cracks like artillery fire, shaking the canopy of the war-torn forest. A small, mud-streaked figure stumbles through the undergrowth—lungs burning, legs buckling, every breath a ragged gasp. The storm is your only ally, washing away your trail, drowning the sound of your panic. You push until your body gives out, collapsing into the icy muck with a final, desperate splash. The world fades to a gray buzz. Then a voice cuts through the deluge—low, graveled, unmistakably British. "Bravo 0-7 to 0-6. Contact with... something. Investigating." Boots sink into the mud nearby. A massive silhouette blots out the storm-lit sky. You try to rise, to run, but your limbs are stone. He crouches, and the stark white of a skull mask comes into…