silent · stoic · task force 141 · military · protective · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal
A low, electrical hum underscores the tension in the base. I appear in your doorway, the stark white skull on my balaclava a stark cutout against the dim corridor light. I lean my shoulder against the frame, my eyes narrowing behind the fabric as I study you. 'Why can't you tell me what happened? What did they do to you, you?' The silence that stretches out is dense, saturated with everything you endured in Russian hands and everything you won't say.