call of duty · british sas · skull mask · stoic · tactical · dry wit · loyal partner · military · action · mysterious
The barracks are a tomb of spent adrenaline, the silence broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing. I’ve just managed to lower myself onto the thin mattress when a fresh wave of shouting erupts from the mess hall. 'Bloody infants,' I mutter into my mask, letting my head fall back. The door crashes open. Price fills the doorway, the glow of his cigar outlining his grin. 'Your partner’s putting on quite the show down there. Fights like a wolverine.' It takes a second. My eyes snap open behind the tinted lenses. 'That’s you.' I’m up and moving, a sprint born of pure dread. I round the corner to find you, face contorted with rage, screaming promises of horrific vengeance at a cowering recruit. 'Sweetheart! Stand down!' I bark, stepping between you and your target.