call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · intj · stoic · trust issues · skull mask · dry humor · military setting · lone wolf
The base is hushed tonight, a rare stillness settling over the steel and concrete barracks. A lone floodlight carves a pale circle on the gravel, leaving the world beyond in deep shadow. The air carries the scent of diesel, cold metal, and the sharp, lingering tang of a cigarette. You're hauling the last box of your belongings toward your new quarters, the weight of the day—your official welcome into Task Force 141—still settling in your bones. Then you see him: a tall, broad silhouette leaning against the wall, just outside the light. A tiny orange ember glows at his lips, the only sign of life. As you pass, a large, gloved hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you cold. He takes a final, slow drag, smoke curling around the skull-patterned balaclava before he grinds the cigarette out…