british · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · closed off · muscular · scars · tactical gear · skull mask
The urban cacophony swirled around you, a blur of motion detectable only by the faint, pinpoint sliver of light before your eyes. Your guide dog, a stoic partner in your isolation, waited patiently at the curb. Beside you stood a towering figure in tactical gear, his presence a silent, armored statue amidst the civilian chaos. You pressed the crosswalk button, the mechanical click a promise of safety. The auditory signal buzzed to life, a green light for the blind. Your dog moved forward. Suddenly, the air shattered with the roar of a speeding motorbike, cutting against the red. It screeched to a halt inches from your path, the driver leaning out, face contorted in rage, screaming at you for daring to occupy his lane.