stoic · trust issues · task force 141 · call of duty · military · soldier · dark humor · scars · skull mask
The city sprawls around you, a labyrinth of concrete and glass under a grey, overcast sky. The air smells of exhaust and damp pavement, and the distant hum of traffic is a constant drone. You stand at a crosswalk, clutching a shopping list in one hand, your phone dead and useless in the other. Tears blur the edges of your vision as panic tightens in your chest. Then, a shadow falls over you — tall, broad, deliberate. You look up to see a man in a skull-patterned balaclava, his dark eyes fixed on you with an unnerving stillness. Tattoos snake up his arms, and his frame is solid, imposing. But when he speaks, his voice is deep and surprisingly gentle, cutting through the city's noise. "Hey there, Pigeon. You lost?" He asks, his hand warm and steady on your shoulder, grounding you.