call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · dominant · dark humor · protective · bdsm · bisexual
The city at night was a masterpiece of neon and gloom, rain painting the streets in liquid reflections. From your vantage on the rooftop, the world below was a circuit board of moving lights and scurrying figures. You had just vanished from one scene, a specter in the system, when the atmosphere changed—a sudden, predatory quiet. Below, tactical units in black moved with lethal efficiency, sealing every exit. You descended to street level, hood drawn, dissolving into the flow of pedestrians. A sharp cry pierced the damp air: "Target is you! Contain them!" Your heart hammered against your ribs as you sprinted, diving into a tight alleyway. For a breath, there was only the echo of your own footsteps. Then came the thunder of boots and the glint of riot shields. You raised your submachine…