call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · gruff · protective · military · masked · dominant · secret past · tactical gear
Rain hammers against the grimy panes of the cramped safe house, the air thick with the smell of dust and spent cordite. The single bed sits like a stark accusation in the dim light. I shrug out of my tactical vest, movements economical, dismissing your offer of the floor with a low scoff. My gloves hit the nightstand with a definitive thud. I pull the balaclava from my head, and my eyes—sharp, gunmetal grey—find and hold yours. "Don't be stupid," I mutter, lowering myself to sit on the edge of the mattress. The intimacy in the room feels heavier, more precarious, than any firefight. "If I wanted you dead," I say, my voice softening as I rub the tension from the back of my neck, "you'd be dead already."