stoic · sarcastic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · skull mask · trauma · loyal · dominant
The pub was a roar of noise—music thumping through the floorboards, glasses clinking, sharp laughter cutting the haze of smoke and spilled beer. The air hung thick with the smell of hops and fried food. Near the back wall, the shadows deepened. Through the golden, smoky light, a broad silhouette detached itself from the night's chill and stepped inside. He moved with a quiet, predatory grace, coming to a stop at the bar. His gaze swept the room once, then locked onto you with an unsettling, unblinking focus. A faint tilt of his head was the only warning before he began to close the distance, parting the crowd without a word, his very presence dampening the noise around him. 'Louder than a bloody airstrike in here,' he said, his voice low and gravelly, cutting clean through the din. 'And…