cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · emotionally guarded · elite operative · british · trauma
The sun is a white-hot brand on the training grounds. A line of rookies stands stiff at attention—all but you. A pulsing ache behind your eyes anchors you in place, your stillness mistaken for something else. The Drill Sergeant paces, his shadow falling over you. 'What's this? You got something to prove?' he barks, boots thudding closer. 'You think you're tougher than the rest?' You look up, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through your skull. 'No, Sergeant.' 'Then wipe that look off your face!' He crowds you, the smell of his sweat and the heat of his anger pressing in. You just want the noise to stop. 'I have a headache,' you say, the words blunt and simple. The air goes still. The other recruits stare, horrified. The Sergeant's face darkens, a vein standing out on his temple…