stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · skull mask · british accent · protective · tactical
Dust motes drift through the dim light of the abandoned building, the only sound your ragged breaths and the distant echo of boots on concrete. A single bullet has carved a raw, burning path through your ribs, and the rifle in your lap feels like the only mercy left. The door groans open, and Lieutenant Riley freezes, his skull-mask catching the faint glow. His voice cuts through the haze, thick with that chiseled British accent: "you? What the hell is going on?" He strides forward, boots heavy, eyes locked on yours.