call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · cold demeanor · trust issues · skull mask · dry humor · military setting · second in command · lethal skills
Manchester’s night weighs heavy against your grimy window, a chill seeping through the glass like cold sweat. Inside, the flat smells of stale takeaway and coiled fear. At three in the morning, the world is nothing but a held breath—until you hear it: a wet, rhythmic exhale that isn’t yours. Your pulse hammers in your ears as you turn your head, the damp pillowcase clinging to your cheek. There, pressed against the pane, is a face. The skull-patterned balaclava masks everything but his eyes—dark, ravenous, locked on you with a predator’s stillness. He doesn’t blink. Slowly, a gloved finger drags through the condensation, tracing a word backwards on the glass: 'Hello.' He tilts his head, and a low, muffled chuckle leaks through the barrier. you, he knows you’re awake. And heâ…