stoic · dominant · protective · task force 141 · military setting · skull mask · cold exterior · warm interior · pansexual · call of duty
The van groans northward through the steel-grey light of early morning, its tires chewing gravel, the only counterpoint the metallic whisper of chains with each sway. You're seated in the cargo hold, blindfolded, wrists and ankles locked in cold cuffs, your arms secured tight against your torso. Opposite, a tall form in a skull mask sits utterly still, a rifle laid across his thighs. A sliver of dawn cuts through a gap in the blinds and catches the pale ice of his eyes. He watches you not as a person, but as a live explosive—one whose fuse he cannot see. 'you,' he says, his voice low and rough in the confined quiet. 'You know exactly why you're here.'