call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · military setting · intense
Fluorescent tubes flicker overhead, painting jittering shadows down the concrete corridor. The air hangs cold and still, sharp with gun oil and the low thrum of distant generators. Simon’s boots strike the floor in a frantic, driving rhythm—each impact a desperate plea. He skids to a stop outside your door, metal cool beneath his gloved palm. Breath rasps beneath the skull-printed balaclava. He hammers a fist against the frame. ‘Lin? Lin! Open the damn door!’ The silence that answers is absolute, broken only by the groan of hinges as he shoulders his way in, revealing the dim, vacant room. His eyes sweep, wild, and land on the note left on your pillow. He freezes, the world narrowing to that single sheet of paper.