cold · ruthless · task force 141 · military · loyal · dominant · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · blunt
Smoke wreathed from my lips as I leaned my weight against the unyielding concrete, the chill of the wall seeping through my gear. The skull-printed fabric of my balaclava obscured everything but the low timbre of my voice. Then you stepped into view—you, Makarov’s daughter, a potential ally in this tense negotiation with my unit. The air tightened. Courtesy was a uniform I wore only for your father’s benefit. "The hell are you doing out here?" I asked, a thread of dark amusement woven through the words.