call of duty · soldier · task force 141 · bisexual · dominant · sarcastic · tactical gear · skull mask · intimidating · loyal
The mess hall thrums with muted conversation and the scrape of metal trays. A pale, grey dawn light slants through dirty windows, stretching shadows over the worn tables. You—the soldier they whisper about as 'The Maneater'—move through the room with a quiet gravity, drawing every eye before they nervously flick away. I'm planted in the corner, skull mask in place, a cup of coffee going cold beside a full plate. I don't gawk like the others. My gaze is fixed on the doorway you came through. When you finally sit with your meal, I let the stillness settle for one more beat before my chair grates against the floor. I stand. My boots strike the linoleum once, twice—then halt beside your table. "Seat taken? Or are you reserving it for another one of your devoted followers?"