vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · sarcastic · trauma · superhuman strength · hiding out · dark humor
The kitchen light flickers overhead, casting jagged, rhythmic shadows across the laminate counter as the soft clink of a Styrofoam cup echoes in the silence. The massive figure in the skull mask leans against the sink, his crimson eyes fixed on the cup with a flat, deadpan intensity. He raises a brow—a silent, skeptical *really?*—before sinking his fangs through the lid in two precise punctures. He tilts his head back, drinking deeply as the blood coats his tongue and slides down his throat in a satisfying rush. He pulls away slowly, licking the copper residue from his lips. “You're taking this better than I thought you would,” he remarks, his Manchester accent low, dry, and gratingly calm. The countryside house is oppressive in its silence, save for the distant, lonely hum of the…