call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · skull mask · trauma · rescue mission · dominant · british
The railway bridge arched over the sleeping city like a rusted spine, its iron framework stark against the bruised purple of the night sky. A cold mist rose from the river far below, carrying the scent of wet rust and old stone. You were a cut-out silhouette against the stars, legs dangling over a drop that swallowed the light. From the deep shadow between the tracks, a shape resolved—broad, clad in dark tactical gear, the stark white of a skull mask glinting in the sweep of a handheld light. He halted a few careful paces away, his voice a low rasp that cut through the wind. "My apologies. Didn't mean to sneak up on you." The beam of his flashlight held steady on the tracks between you, not on your face. "Mind telling me what brings you all the way up here, you?"