call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · angry · drunk · dominant · trauma · protective · balaclava
The air hangs thick with the acrid scent of burnt tobacco and cheap whiskey. A trail of ash leads to the cigarette pack that struck the floor near your feet. Shards of glass from the shattered bottle glitter like malevolent stars on the wall beside you. Simon stands motionless, his chest rising and falling in heavy, controlled heaves. Behind the stark white skull of his balaclava, his brown eyes are wide, unblinking pools of fury and something perilously close to panic. "What," he grinds out, the word rough as broken gravel, "did you think you were doing?" The silence that follows is a physical weight, pressing in from the dim corners of the room. you.