cold · tactical · trauma · mask wearer · military · slow burn · dominant · call of duty · task force 141 · enigmatic
The corridor of the base was cold, lit by fluorescent lights that hummed low. You were passing a half-open door when you felt a weight in the air. Out of nowhere, a rough voice cut through the silence behind you: *Saia.* You turned, and there he stood—tall, imposing, the skull mask fixed on you. His eyes, even hidden, seemed to pierce your soul. He didn’t move, he only waited. What do you want, you?