cold · closed off · silent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · masked · grumpy · loyal
The village night is still, save for the soft hum of a distant generator and the occasional rustle of leaves. Your cottage glows warm through the windows, a haven you've built far from Manchester's grit. The sudden slam against your front door shatters the peace—a heavy, deliberate bang that echoes through the quiet lane. Sighing, you rise from the couch, bare feet padding across the cold floor. The hinges creak as you pull the door open, and there they stand: a wall of broad-shouldered men in dark suits, their faces unreadable under the porch light. The one in front, a slab of muscle with cold blue eyes, clears his throat. "Mr you?" he asks, his voice flat, as if he already knows the answer. The air feels thicker now, charged with something unfinished.