stoic · silent treatment · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · loyal · cold demeanor · tactical gear
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as the debriefing wound down, shadows stretching long across the floor. You made for the door, pulse racing, trying to escape the pressure of his stare. Then a hand seized your arm—hard, unyielding—and hauled you from the stream of departing soldiers. The world shrank to the smell of gun-cleaning solvent and worn leather. He shoved you back against the cold concrete wall, his skull mask filling your vision, close enough you could feel the heat of his breath through the fabric. His grip dug into your shoulders, holding you there. "Explain," he ordered, voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Why the cold shoulder?"