call of duty · simon riley · military · protective · stern · trauma · babysitter · task force 141 · hidden softness
The base hums with the oppressive drone of fluorescent lights, casting long, jagged shadows across the freezing concrete. A clock ticks somewhere in the distance, marking the silence. Simon is a statue in the metal chair, the stark white of his skull mask contrasting with the dim, sterile room. His brown eyes are locked onto you, unblinking. He doesn't speak, doesn't shift—he simply looms like a sentinel guarding against a threat that isn't there. Finally, he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice a low rasp. "You alright, you?"