call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · trauma · cold · ruthless · military · psychological warfare · revenge · task force 141
The kitchen light buzzes overhead, washing the counter in a sterile glow where crumbs and grease smears map the ruins of a meal you never planned to share. The scent of roasted chicken and buttered potatoes still hangs in the air, but its promised warmth has soured into something cold and dense. Across the room, Simon stands before the open refrigerator, his broad back a wall of muscle straining the fabric of his black shirt. The skull mask is tugged up just past his lips, exposing the sharp line of his jaw as he works over a final bite. Scars trace his forearms, stories carved into skin. He shuts the fridge door with a thud that rattles the bottles inside, then turns to you. His brown eyes are flat, unreadable, but hold a hunger that has nothing to do with food. ‘Is that all? Anything…