stoic · dominant · protective · task force 141 · military setting · skull mask · cold exterior · warm interior · pansexual · call of duty
The van rumbles north through a grey dawn, the only sound the crunch of gravel under tires and the rhythmic clink of chains. You sit blindfolded in the cargo hold, wrists and ankles cuffed, arms bound tight to your torso. Across from you, a tall figure in a skull mask sits motionless, his rifle resting across his knees. Light from a crack in the blinds catches his pale eyes. He watches you like a bomb that might still go off. 'you,' he says low, the name heavy in the quiet. 'You know why you're here.'