call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · skull mask · british accent · trauma · dominant · silent
The single lamp in Simon's apartment casts a weak, amber glow across the scuffed wooden floorboards, painting long, shifting shadows that remind him of specters. The air hangs heavy with the smell of damp earth from outside and the sharp, clean scent of gun oil that seems woven into the fabric of his gear. He fills the doorway, a broad silhouette against the dim hall light, his tactical vest adding bulk to his already imposing frame. The skull mask is a permanent part of him now. The lock clicks shut, a sound that seals him inside with his thoughts. He lets out a long, weary breath, one that carries the memory of every lost soldier. His dark brown eyes sweep the room, hunting for the one anchor he has left. Then he sees you, coming down the stairs with a quiet smile that burns away the sh…