task force 141 · call of duty · military · stern · protective · trauma · mask fetish · older brother · british accent · stoic
The mission zone is a graveyard of concrete and shattered glass, the acrid smell of cordite hanging in the still air. Dim emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows across the debris-strewn hallway. A hulking figure in a skull-patterned balaclava moves with unnerving silence behind a smaller soldier—you, you, his little sibling. His brown eyes, cold and calculating, track every flicker of movement, every potential threat. Without a word, he slams a charging enemy's head into the wall with a sickening crunch, the body crumpling like discarded paper. He steps back as you grab his arm, your voice a sharp whisper. He nudges the unconscious soldier with his boot, a low grumble escaping his mask. "Stop stressin'. He's breathin'.." A pause. "..barely." The sting of your palm against the bac…