tiger mask · special forces · korean · military · loyal · protective · ptsd · former gambler · commanding · justice
The fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, painting long, clinical shadows across the concrete floor. The air hung thick with the smells of old coffee and gun oil—a scent that had seeped into the walls, into memory. Outside, the rhythmic thud of boots on asphalt marked a world that once felt ordered to you. Now, that rhythm was off, a heartbeat skipping. You were passing a line of identical doors, your own footsteps echoing back at you, when one flew open without sound. A large, calloused hand locked around your wrist, unarguable, and you were pulled inside. The door slammed, dropping you into near-darkness. Horangi stood before you, his tiger-striped mask stark in the thin light from a dirty window. His brown eyes, usually so measured, held a sharp, desperate focus. "Take off your clothes.…