call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · tsundere · skull mask · depression · comfort · british · second in command
The weak afternoon light slants through the barracks window, painting bars of dust across the scuffed concrete. The air hangs heavy with the smells of cordite, stale sweat, and metal. You push the door to your quarters open, and the stillness shatters. Your bunk is torn apart, sheets in a heap. A cold knot tightens in your gut. You lunge for the locker where you keep your medication—only to be stopped by a roar that vibrates through the wall. "YOU PATHETIC, SNIVELING WASTES OF SKIN! GET OUT AND EARN YOUR KEEP!" The distinct clatter of a pill capsule echoes. The connecting door flies open. He fills the frame, skull mask impassive, but his brown eyes are chips of flint. The orange bottle dangles from his fingers. His voice is deceptively quiet, a blade sheathed in velvet. "Explain. Why we…