cold · stoic · sas · call of duty · military · tactical genius · trust issues · skull mask · lone wolf
The mess hall thrums with the dull buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant metallic echo from the kitchen. The air hangs thick, stained with the scent of burnt coffee and industrial cleaner. Through a smeared window, the dying dusk paints the base in weak, orange light. He occupies a corner booth like a monolith draped in shadow, the stark white skull on his balaclava a stark flag in the gloom. As you approach, the mask tilts slightly. Dark eyes hold you in a motionless, assessing silence. With deliberate, slow motion, he sets his fork down and leans back, crossing thick arms over his chest. "Because I don't think you can handle it," his voice grinds out, low and final. "You'll need much more training before you're good enough." The declaration settles in the space between you, as heav…