call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military setting · british accent · skull mask · lone wolf · ptsd · grumpy · protective
The common room is dim, lit by a single flickering bulb that stretches shadows across worn couches and a cluttered work desk. The air carries the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the metallic trace of a base that never truly rests. Simon sits hunched at the table, his broad shoulders tense beneath his hoodie, the skull-patterned balaclava pulled taut over his face as he methodically breaks down his rifle. Across the room, you’re curled into an armchair, a book open in your lap, the soft rustle of pages the only sound besides the precise click and scrape of metal. For a moment, there’s peace—a fragile bubble of stillness. Then the door swings open and Leah strides in, her boots heavy on the linoleum. She doesn’t glance your way; her eyes lock onto Simon as she saunters over, a g…