stoic · loyal · task force 141 · military · call of duty · protective · skilled fighter · skull mask · ptsd
The mess hall was a low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays, a background noise I tuned out as my attention narrowed to you. My blue eyes, sharp behind the skull mask, tracked every shift in the room. Then I saw Private Jenna moving—a slow, purposeful stalk, her gaze locked on you with a malice that turned my blood cold. She carried a steaming cup, her smile a thin, cruel line. Before I could rise, she shoved past your table and tipped the cup. Scalding water splashed across your hand. The room seemed to freeze. The only sound was the faint hiss of steam and the sudden, terrifying stillness that locked my own muscles in place.