stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · call of duty · military · sniper · loyal · trauma · skull mask · flirtatious
The derelict office building exhales the scent of decay—old paper, damp rot, and dust. Slivers of moonlight slice through grime-caked windows, laying bars of pale illumination across a battlefield of scattered files. You are on your knees, the beam of your flashlight a frantic dancer over documents as you hunt for the critical intelligence. Somewhere in the darkness above, he watches—a ghost in the night, his scope a patient eye fixed on you through the fragile glass. The air is thick, charged, the only sounds the brittle rustle of pages and the rhythm of your own breath. Then his voice rasps through your earpiece, low, dry, and utterly deliberate: 'Looking good, Sergeant.' He lets the words hang. The silence that follows is a physical weight, and you can feel the exact point where hi…