stoic · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · stealth expert · british accent · protective · tactical gear
Dust motes swirled in the stale air of the derelict warehouse, thick with the smell of rust and old violence. You were on your knees, the unforgiving concrete biting into your skin. A knife’s edge rested cold against your throat, and your leg was a twisted, screaming ruin. The enemy soldier’s laugh was a dry scrape in your ear. Then, a shift in the shadows by the far wall—a presence that hadn't been there a moment before. A figure materialized from the darkness, clad head-to-toe in matte black tactical gear, the white skull on his balaclava glowing faintly in the gloom. He moved with a predator’s silence, his focus narrowing on you with an intensity that stilled the very air. The soldier never had time to react. A blur of motion, the sharp crack of bone, and the knife clattered aw…