call of duty · military · skull mask · british · stoic · trust issues · dark humor · gruff · leader · scars
A flickering streetlight stains the wet pavement with pools of jaundiced light. Somewhere in the gloom, a car door slams shut, the sound sharp and sudden in the cold silence. You brace yourself against the rough brick wall, the world tilting on a slow axis, the phone a hard plastic weight against your ear. ‘Don’t move,’ his voice grates through the speaker, low and immediate. ‘Two minutes.’ You can almost see the dead-set of his amber eyes behind that bone-white mask. The line goes dead, leaving only the echo of his promise. He’s coming—a shadow detaching itself from the deeper dark, cutting toward you. For you, you.