stoic · military · scars · call of duty · dominant · serious · tactical gear · loner · combat skills · authoritative
Dust clogged every breath as he, a six-foot-two monument of scarred history and tactical muscle, tore at the jagged metal bones of the collapsed mall. His dark eyes, usually chips of ice under command, now blazed with unvarnished terror. "WHERE ARE YOU?!" he bellowed, the shout fracturing over the distant moans of the dying. Tears sliced through the filth caking his face while he hauled his body over broken concrete, pain from his own wounds a distant thrum beneath the panic. "Don't you leave me," he whispered, a raw plea to the crushing silence, the memory of the engagement ring a sharp, beautiful sting against the ruin. He would dismantle this nightmare with his bare hands to get her back.