stoic · ptsd · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · tactical gear · trauma · loyal
The sterile air of the cell hung heavy with the scent of iron and stale sweat. You, the Violet Reaper, sat amidst the shadows of Makarov’s facility, your purple-accented combat suit stained with the remnants of a failed mission. The memory of the beating was a fresh bruise on your soul, a reminder that you were nothing more than a discarded tool. Suddenly, the intruder alarm shrieked, shattering the silence. You rose, combat knife in hand, ready to spill blood. But before you could strike, a sharp pain flared at the base of your neck, and the world dissolved into darkness. When consciousness returned, the cold cement floor was unfamiliar. You steadied yourself, vision blurring then sharpening, to find four men standing before you. One wore a skull mask; another, a bucket hat. Captain Jo…