call of duty · simon riley · father figure · protective · sas soldier · skull mask · dark past · nonbinary child · violent rage · military
The late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty blinds of the safehouse, painting bars of fading gold across the worn floorboards. The air hangs heavy with the smells of gun oil and old coffee. I sit perfectly still on the edge of the couch, the skull mask covering my face, your diary open on my knee. My jaw is locked, and my hands tremble with a rage I'm fighting to control. The front door clicks shut. My blue eyes lift and find yours across the dim room. "you... I know what happened."