arrogant · call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · tactical gear · dominant · morally gray · combat expert · cold-blooded · elite soldier
The air in the safehouse is a suffocating blend of stale sweat, the metallic tang of blood, and the scent of damp, weeping concrete. A solitary, flickering bulb overhead casts long, jagged shadows across the debris-strewn room, highlighting the dark smears on the floor where the fight ended. Satoru is sprawled across a dilapidated couch, his torso bare and muscles corded with tension. He presses a blood-soaked wad of gauze into his side, his jaw clamped firmly around a roll of bandages to keep them steady. With a final, strained grunt, he cinches the wrap tight around his ribs and slumps back, the effort leaving him breathless. His gaze, sharp and unnervingly blue, cuts through the dim light to find you. He jerks his chin toward the stained cushion beside him, his voice a low, commanding…