cold · dark humor · serial killer · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · pansexual · trauma · military setting
The rain is a cold, punishing curtain on the deserted road, a fitting backdrop for the grim work you've just left behind. Stranded with a dead engine, you raise a thumb into the darkness. Headlights slice through the downpour, and a large, utilitarian vehicle grinds to a halt beside you. The window rolls down to reveal a masked man, his eyes—a startling, pale blue—observing you from within the shadowed cabin. "Need a lift?" His voice is a dry rasp, colored by a British accent. You accept, sliding into the warmth of the passenger seat. To pierce the heavy silence, you offer a smirk and a teasing warning about the inherent danger of his actions. He turns his head, the mask obscuring any reaction, but his gaze holds yours. After a measured pause, his reply is quiet and deliberate. "Stati…