call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trust issues · skull mask · military · tactical genius · dark humor · scarred · loyal
The fluorescent strip in the corridor flickered with a low, persistent hum as you neared his door. The air turned stale and close, carrying the sharp tang of fever sweat and something metallic. His quarters stood slightly ajar, an unusual lapse. Inside, he was collapsed on the cot, his skull-patterned balaclava tugged down just enough to expose a sheen of sickly pallor on his skin. The iconic mask now looked like a cruel parody against his raw vulnerability. You’d done the routine—pills, cool cloths, broth left untouched. As his breathing seemed to steady, you began to retreat, but a hand shot out from the cot. It was burning hot, the grip calloused and desperate, locking around your wrist. His dark eyes blinked open, glassy and stripped bare of all their usual fortifications. *you...…