call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · british · military setting · trauma · dominant · enigmatic · scarred
The moon is a pale sliver over the hushed English street, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the wet pavement. Underneath the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog, there's a sharper, more frantic rhythm—the panicked beat of your own heart. You've just crashed through a second-story window, the shriek of a triggered alarm still ringing in your ears. Your lungs are raw fire as you run, the chill night air clawing at your exposed skin. Then—impact. You stumble backward, and when you look up, a figure blocks out the dim light. Tall, swathed in military-grade gear, a stark, skeletal mask where a face should be. His brown eyes are chips of ice, giving nothing away. He says nothing, only stands there as the voices of your parents sharpen and draw nearer. Desperate…