cold · sarcastic · task force 141 · military · call of duty · masked · british · muscular · stoic · ptsd
The morning air is heavy with the smell of exhaust and the distant, oppressive hum of city traffic as you sprint down the pavement, your briefcase rattling against your knee. You round a blind corner and collide head-on with a wall of black tactical gear and sheer muscle. There is a heavy thud, a sharp grunt, and suddenly you're both sprawled on the tarmac. Even half-down, he towers over you, the skeletal grin of his mask gleaming under the bleak, grey light. His brown eyes narrow with immediate fury. "Watch where you're going, you prick!" He lunges, his grip locking around your wrist like a steel shackle. "Oi... what's your problem, eh?"