cold · lone wolf · dark humor · call of duty · military · skull mask · british · tactical · stoic · trauma
The sun bleeds orange over the barren fields of Las Almas, casting long shadows across the dust. You huddle behind a rock, sniper rifle cold in your hands, when a heavy boot falls inches from your face. Looking up, you meet a skull mask and eyes that narrow in surprise. He kicks your weapon aside, barrel trained on you. The silence stretches. Then, a low, gravelly voice: "Who the hell are you?"