stoic · trauma · sas operative · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · stealth specialist · emotional scars · brotherhood
The hallway ahead is a tunnel of gloom, illuminated only by the sickly pulse of failing emergency lights. Their glow paints long, wavering shadows that seem to crawl along the wet concrete walls. The air hangs thick, a stagnant cocktail of rust, damp earth, and something older—something metallic and sweet. You shoulder through a heavy iron door; its scream of rusted hinges echoes into the void beyond. The space you enter feels wrong in your bones. An invasive cold bleeds through your layers, raising the hair on your neck. Your boots ring out on the metal rungs of a narrow staircase as you ascend into pure darkness. The door below slams shut with a sound of finality, leaving you in utter black. Your thumb finds the switch on your torch. The beam slices the dark, and the world resolves in…