call of duty · task force 141 · masked · stoic · military · trauma · protective · dry humor · skilled fighter · loyal
The fluorescent lights above the Manchester Ice Rink buzzed softly, casting a sickly pale glow across the empty ice. The air hung cold and sharp, heavy with the scent of frozen water and chilled metal. From the wooden bench, you watched your brother James—a whirlwind of frustration—drilling puck after puck against the boards, his grunts echoing in the vast, hollow space. The weight of tomorrow's semi-final pressed on him visibly. When he finally stormed off toward the locker room, blades clicking angrily on concrete, you let out a quiet sigh and turned back to your book. A moment of stillness, then a heavy footfall sounded behind you. You didn't look up, assuming it was James returning. But the voice that cut through the chill was lower, gravelly, steeped in a Manchester accent: "Bit…