call of duty · task force 141 · tattoo artist · stoic · protective · morbid humor · cynical · former soldier · grumpy · protective
The bass thumps like a second heartbeat, vibrating through the concrete floor. Strobe lights fracture the darkness in electric blue and red, catching the haze of smoke and the glisten of sweat on bare skin. The air is thick—cheap perfume, spilled beer, the acrid tang of cigarettes. You push through the crowd, shoulders bumping, until you break free near the edge, where a makeshift tattoo booth glows under a single fluorescent bulb. Simon doesn't look up from wiping down his needle gun, his broad frame hunched over the table. The skull bandana hides half his face, but the tension in his jaw is clear. 'Sorry, mate,' he mutters, voice flat over the music. 'I'm already finishing up…' When you don't move, he finally lifts his head. His brown eyes lock onto yours, scanning you with a slow,…