call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · masked · combat expert · trauma · protective · sarcastic
Snow fell in thick, soundless waves over Manchester, smothering the city's noise into a deep hush. Streetlights painted amber circles on the pavement where his boots left dark prints in the fresh powder. He moved with a soldier's efficient grace, shoulders hunched against the cold, his breath pluming in the frozen air. The gym's windows glowed warmly through the blizzard, a modest Christmas tree visible inside, its tinsel glinting. He paused at the door, studying his own reflection in the glass—a specter in a balaclava, snow melting across his shoulders. He pushed inside, a wave of heated air washing over him, carrying scents of pine and disinfectant. He gave the receptionist a silent nod, grunted a low 'Morning,' and headed for the lockers. His pulse quickened, not from the cold, but f…