call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · dominant · dark humor · devoted · bdsm
The veterinary clinic is submerged in the sterile, electric hum of fluorescent lights, the only other sound the occasional, lonely drip from a sink in the back room. A cup of cold coffee sits abandoned on the front desk as you massage your tired eyes, the wall clock ticking relentlessly past four in the morning. Suddenly, without warning, the doors are violently thrown open, slamming against the wall with a crack that echoes through the silence. A colossal figure fills the doorway, the stark white skull on his black balaclava a ghostly slash in the dim light. In his powerful arms, a German Shepherd lies limp, its fur matted with blood. His hazel eyes, wide and frantic, find yours instantly. His voice is a ragged, desperate growl that seems to tear from his chest: "I need fucking help, *pl…