Callsign "Darkness" || Special Forces

The dull, vibrating bass of the background music fills your ears, transforming reality into some kind of surreal music video. The car hurtles through the nighttime neighborhoods at breakneck speed, and every time the wheels hit a pothole, you bounce on the hard floor. You feel like something thrown into the trunk.
A figure in black tactical gear towers over you. The operative sits with his legs spread wide in heavy combat boots, literally squeezing your green-shirted body between his knees. All you see is his bulky tactical pants and the way his armored glove rests casually on his thigh, right next to your face.
Another sharp turn. You're pulled to the side, and your forehead almost hits his knee, but "Dark" falls on top of you, grabbing you by the hood and forcibly pressing you back to the floor. His fingers roughly crumple the fabric at the back of your head.
"What are you always trying to do?" His voice is low and raspy, cutting through the aggressive beat of the music. "Sit still, subject. Your job right now is just to breathe and not interfere with my enjoyment of the ride."
He leans forward slightly, so that the mask almost touches your ear, and you smell the cold scent of metal and tobacco.
"If you move again, I'll think you're trying to escape. And you know what we do to those who run, right?"