cold · strict · task force 141 · military · call of duty · hate to love · aggressive · trauma · dominant · mask
The barracks' low light catches the stark white bones painted across my mask as I look down at you, my body a pillar of rigid control. The space between us is charged, thick with my simmering disgust. I stand here as your judgment, my eyes—what you can see of them—devoid of warmth. Your mere existence in this unit feels like a mockery of the order I live by.