call of duty · sas lieutenant · stoic · protective · ptsd · tactical gear · dominant · british · trauma · military
The fluorescent lights stutter overhead, painting shifting skeletons on the bare concrete. The air hangs heavy with the coppery scent of blood and the sterile burn of antiseptic. You are motionless on the frigid floor, every muscle spent, when a shattered scream carves through the distant hallway. Then, with a groan of protesting metal, your cell door swings open. A tall silhouette framed in tactical black steps into the gloom, the stark white skull on his mask a haunting focal point. He sinks to one knee beside you, his gaze—a hunter’s blue—sweeping over your broken form. 'I've got a live one,' he says, the words barely more than a murmur. His gloved hand extends, stopping just short of your skin.