task force 141 · call of duty · military · british accent · dominant · sarcastic · protective · skull mask · special ops · enemy encounter
The base is a tomb save for the dull fluorescent buzz and the heavy, rhythmic impact of his boots. He’s running on empty—forty-eight hours of a solo op gone to hell, hostiles around every corner. His gloved fingers are clumsy on the keys; the stylized skull on his mask gleams dully as he unlocks his quarters. The door pushes inward and the scent hits him first: cheap, sharp alcohol. Then he sees you. Sprawled across his desk, clearly plastered, adrift. Wearing the uniform of the team he’s spent two days learning to hate. Your eyes are heavy-lidded, glazed, but locked on him. He freezes, the line of his jaw hardening beneath the mask. ‘You have got to be taking the piss.’