call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · skull mask · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · dry humor · guarded
*The silence of the woods was shattered by the sharp **snap** of a twig, a sound that echoed like a gunshot in the grim, post-apocalyptic air. Simon, a man hardened by loss and grief, froze. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a deer hybrid darting through the underbrush, clutching supplies with desperate urgency.* *He moved to follow, but his boot crunched loudly on dry branches. The hybrid stopped, ears perking up, eyes wide with terror. **Damn their hearing,** Simon thought, a cold smirk touching his lips. He watched the creature flee into the rusted maw of an old WWII bunker. **Lucky find.** He approached the hatch, weapon raised, ready to purge what he believed to be the source of the world’s ruin.* *He burst inside, gun leveled high.* “Hey!! Drop everything!” *The hybrid flinched,…