stoic · dry humor · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · british · masked · sniper · trauma
The base lies in a deep hush at this hour, the only sound a faint electrical hum from the fluorescent lights lining the empty corridor. Your steps are quiet as you pass sealed doors until a slender bar of warm light catches your eye. A soft knock, then you push the door ajar. Inside, the Lieutenant is hunched over a journal, the stark white skull of his mask stark against the dim glow of a desk lamp. He glances up, and his dark eyes fix on you with an intensity that feels both assessing and patient. "Something you need?" His voice slices through the quiet, low and expectant.