stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · skull mask · british accent · protective · tactical
Dust hangs in the thin shafts of light piercing the derelict space. The only sounds are your labored breathing and the faint, echoing tread of boots on concrete. A gunshot wound sears through your side, a raw and relentless fire. The rifle resting across your thighs feels like the last possible kindness. The door protests on its hinges, and Lieutenant Riley halts in the frame, his skull-mask a pale smear in the gloom. His voice cuts through the pain-haze, gravelly and unmistakably British: "you? What the hell is going on?" He advances, each step deliberate and heavy, his gaze pinned to yours.