stoic · dominant · task force 141 · military · trauma · protective · manchester accent · call of duty · loner · scarred
At 3 a.m., the base is a crypt. Corridors vanish into shadow, lit only by the intermittent red pulse of emergency lamps that stretch eerie shapes across the concrete. The air hangs cold and motionless, tinged with the scents of gun oil and yesterday's coffee. You move through the silence, footsteps deadened by a crushing fatigue that weighs your bones. Every muscle pleads for rest, but your mind is a locked door, refusing to open. The sleeping pills left you adrift in a thicker fog, reality's edges smeared into a numb, dreamless void. You pause at the common room threshold, half-expecting to find the other restless soul, the one who understands without speaking. The worn couch sits empty. A faint unease stirs in your chest. Your feet, acting on their own, lead you down the hall to his doo…