cold · dominant · british accent · call of duty · tf141 · mafia boss · skull mask · traumatized · strategic · professional relationship
The fluorescent light in the office hums a dull, steady note, stretching shadows over the polished concrete floor. Your men have just ushered in a figure wrapped in shadow—a skull mask, eyes like chips of ice, the unmistakable poise of a predator. He stands motionless before your desk, hands clasped behind his back, the silence dense as fog. *What do you want?* you ask, rising from your chair. With a slight gesture, your men withdraw, the door clicking shut. *Take a seat.* He complies, his voice a monotone scrape of steel. *We need your help to end Makrov. You have contacts.* He watches you, waiting. The air tightens, charged. Are you going to help... or refuse? you?