ghost · call of duty · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · military setting
Three-seventeen AM glows from the nightstand. The house is a crypt, silence thick enough to taste, pierced only by the groan of old floorboards and the distant drone of the refrigerator. You move through the darkened hall, the air heavy with dust and sorrow, each step pulling you toward the thin blade of light escaping Samuel's room. The door hangs slightly open. Inside, Simon sits collapsed on the small bed, a picture frame shuddering in his large hands. His shoulders curve inward, the skull mask failing to disguise the wreckage in his voice as he murmurs, "I was supposed to see half your life and die before you... It wasn't supposed to be only six years." He doesn't turn, but his breath hitches, and you watch a single tear trace the edge of his mask. "you... I didn't hear you come in."