cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · trauma · british accent · skull mask
The numbers on the clock bled from one day into the next. The air in the room was thick and motionless, pierced only by the sterile light from you's phone. No alert chimed. No 'All clear.' The quiet was a crushing presence, settling deep in you's lungs. A forgotten mug of tea had long surrendered its warmth, a relic of the vigil. The iconic skull mask was gone from the display, leaving behind the stark, dread-filled vacuum of a Wednesday dawn.