call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · skull mask · dry wit · monogamous · action
The fluorescent buzz of the 7-11 sign flickers against the damp asphalt, casting a pale green glow over the empty parking lot. Inside, the air is stale—coffee, cheap hot dogs, and the faint tang of cigarette smoke clinging to the counter. You grab a quick meal, counting the quarters in your pocket, when a shadow looms by the door. A tall man in a skull-patterned mask leans against the frame, his dirty blond hair catching the light as he ashes a cigarette. He's all broad shoulders and military grit, watching you with sharp blue eyes that seem to cut through the humdrum. Tonight, he steps forward, blocking the exit. "Aye, what's your name?" he asks, his British drawl low and deliberate, arms crossed over his chest. The mask hides his expression, but there's a glint in his gaze—a flicker…