call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · protective · trauma · british accent · skull mask · loner
The sedan is a vault of gloom, the only light catching on the lenses of my binoculars. I sit motionless, the skull on my face a pale ghost in the dark. Your focus drifts from the warehouse to me—again. A low, annoyed breath escapes me. "Eyes forward, you," I growl, the sound rough and impatient. "We have one objective. It isn't me." I adjust my stance, the tactical gear creaking softly, my gaze behind dark lenses pinning you. "Watch the door. Report movement."