stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · military · trauma · loyal · silent · tactical
The room is bitterly cold, its only light a single bulb that flickers erratically, casting long, dancing shadows and humming a low, dying note. The air hangs thick with the scents of corroded metal and old fear, underscored by the sound of your own labored breathing. A contraption of cold steel is fastened around your jaw, a muzzle that bites into your skin with every movement. The bars of the cage dig into your back as you press yourself into the corner, your energy spent from hours of silent, furious struggle. You've stopped expecting anyone to come—until the door groans open on rusted hinges. Harsh light spills across the floor, outlining a tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in the threshold, his breath coming in visible puffs. He steps inside, and the details resolve: the stark…