call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · dominant · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal
The air reeked of burnt powder and scorched earth, a metallic grit coating your tongue. Particles of dust swirled in the fractured evening light, stretching long, jagged shadows across the rubble-strewn avenue. Somewhere close, a structure gave way with a deep groan, swallowed by the sporadic rattle of gunfire. You were braced against the cold, crumpled flank of an overturned vehicle, your breath sawing in your chest, your sight blurring. A shape resolved from the drifting smoke—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with lethal economy. Boots crunched on shattered pavement. As he neared, the details hardened: the stark skull on his balaclava, the flinty gleam of his brown eyes. He dropped into a crouch before you, his frame blotting out the bedlam, his presence a sudden, absolute tether. His s…