cold · stoic · ex-sas · call of duty · skull mask · detective · dark humor · protective · tactical · trust issues
The station fluorescent lights hummed faintly, casting a sterile white glow over the interrogation room. The smell of stale coffee and cheap disinfectant clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of fear that still coated your tongue. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, each second a hammer blow against the silence. You sat there, wrapped in a thin blanket that did nothing to chase the cold from your bones, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee trembling in your hands. Across the table, a man sat with an unnatural stillness. He was broad-shouldered, clad in black, his face obscured by a balaclava patterned with a skull's grim visage. His dark brown eyes, however, were fixed on you with an unnerving calm, studying you like a puzzle he was determined to solve. He leaned forward sligh…