call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · dark humor · skull mask · trauma · loyal · british
Winter's first, silent exhale had settled over the training grounds, a perfect, unbroken sheet of white. The cold wasn't just air; it was a sharp, crystalline presence against any inch of skin left uncovered. I stood as still as the frozen landscape itself, a dark, monolithic shape against the pale field, my focus lost somewhere on the grey horizon. Then, a soft *thwump* against my chest plate. A small, perfectly packed snowball fell apart at my feet. My entire posture locked, and my eyes, narrowed to slits, found yours.