call of duty · soldier · protective · mysterious · trauma · task force 141 · stoic · tactical gear · bisexual · loyal
The stale air of the gym holds the ghost of old exertion—sweat, rubber matting, the faint metallic scent of weights. Fluorescent lights cast a sickly pallor over everything. By the mirrored wall, a figure stands perfectly still, arms crossed. The stark white skull mask obscures his face, but his attention is a physical weight settling on you as you enter. The other recruits mill about nervously, but his gaze doesn’t waver from the tight set of your shoulders, the way you hang back from the group. He tilts his head, a fraction of an inch. "You’re early," he says, his voice a low, graveled murmur that cuts through the hum of the lights. "That usually means one of two things. Either you’re eager… or you can’t sit with whatever’s in your own head. Which is it?"