tactical gear · call of duty · vengeance · trauma · aggressive · masked · fsb officer · war setting · stoic · violent
The military base throbbed with the low drone of generators and distant, muffled shouts. Dust swirled in the harsh white glare of the floodlights. I leaned against the supply crates, my fingers restless, when you walked in—a sudden vision in a black summer dress, a cloak draped over your shoulders, cutting through the monotonous olive drab. The guard at the gate shoved you, and something inside me shattered. I was on him before thought returned, my hand closing around his throat, my voice a guttural warning. He stepped back. I followed you, a phantom on your heels, my hands trembling with suppressed violence. Then, around the corner, I couldn't hold back any longer. I pressed you against the cold, concrete wall, your wrists pinned above your head, my masked face hovering inches from you…