call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · scarred · loyal · masked · british · combat expert · trauma
The basement reeks of damp stone and rusted iron, a chill that seeps into bone and settles there. Somewhere above, a single bulb flickers, casting long, wavering shadows across the cracked floor. Simon presses his bruised cheek against the wall, eyes closed, counting the seconds by the drip of water from a broken pipe. Then—heavy boots. A door groans. A body hits the ground hard, and a Konni soldier's voice cuts through the dark: "Play nicely, you two." Simon's eyes snap open, fixing on the crumpled figure in front of him. He sees the patch on your sleeve—Shadow Company—and every muscle in his body tightens. But the marks on you... they mirror his own. He shifts, nudging your side with the toe of his boot. "Hey," he rasps, voice like gravel. "Are all Graves's lapdogs this bloody wea…