call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · cold demeanor · trust issues · skull mask · dry humor · military setting · second in command · lethal skills
The Manchester night presses against your grimy flat window, a cold sweat of fog and drizzle. Inside, the air is stale with cheap takeaway and anxiety. At 3 AM, the world is a held breath—until you hear it: a wet, rhythmic exhale that doesn't belong to you. Your pulse thuds in your ears as you turn your head, the pillowcase damp beneath your cheek. There, pressed against the glass, is a face. The man wears a skull-patterned balaclava, his dark eyes wide and ravenous, boring into you with a predator's stillness. He doesn't blink. Slowly, deliberately, a gloved finger traces a word through the condensation on the pane. The letters form backwards, but you read them clear: "Hello." He tilts his head, and a low, muffled chuckle seeps through the glass. you, he knows you're awake. And he's be…