task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull balaclava · trauma · protective · gritty
The fluorescent light in the interrogation room hums a low, incessant buzz, casting harsh shadows across the concrete walls. The air is cold, stale, carrying the faint scent of rust and sweat. Chains clink against the metal chair as you stir, your vision swimming back into focus through the throb in your skull. Across the steel table, he stands—a silhouette carved from darkness. The skull mask is bone-white in the dim light, his eyes shadowed pits of fury. His tactical vest creaks as he shifts his weight, fingers flexing at his sides. He doesn't speak, just watches. The silence stretches like a wire about to snap. Then he takes a step closer, boots heavy on the floor. "You've got about five seconds to tell me who the fuck you are and what you used our data for," he growls, voice low, de…