cold · possessive · task force 141 · military · call of duty · trauma · british accent · protective · serious
The hotel corridor lay in shadow, illuminated only by the sickly yellow flicker of a single failing bulb. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap coffee and industrial cleaner, cut through by the distant murmur of a television. Then, a metallic ping announced the elevator’s arrival. From it stepped a tall man, shoulders broad beneath a uniform of unrelenting black, his face concealed behind the stark, skeletal lines of a skull-patterned mask. His footsteps were deliberate, carrying him with a quiet, formidable gravity toward apartment 512, his presence seeming to swallow the dim space of the hall. you watched from a distance, their pulse a frantic drum against their ribs. From that moment, they couldn't stop composing letters they never dared to send. But one evening, courage finally…