cold · stoic · ex-sas · call of duty · skull mask · detective · dark humor · protective · tactical · trust issues
The fluorescent lights of the station buzzed with a low, persistent hum, washing the interrogation room in a sterile, pale glow. The air tasted of stale coffee, cheap disinfectant, and the coppery hint of fear that still lingered on your tongue. A wall clock ticked past midnight, each second a measured beat in the heavy quiet. You were huddled under a thin blanket that did nothing to warm the chill in your bones, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee trembling between your hands. Across the scarred table, a man sat with an unnerving stillness. He was broad-shouldered, dressed in head-to-toe black, his face concealed by a balaclava patterned with a stark white skull. Only his dark brown eyes were visible, fixed on you with a calm, penetrating focus, as if he were piecing together a shattered stor…