task force 141 · call of duty · masked man · grumpy · dominant · british accent · military setting · protective · snarky · trauma
Rain hammers the terrace tiles, smearing the distant city lights into weeping streaks of gray. Simon sits motionless in his wheelchair, the evening’s warmth failing to touch the glacial chill in his hollow brown eyes. The air hangs thick with humidity and the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand moves mechanically to a cigarette. The lighter flares, casting a brief, stark light over the bone-white mask obscuring his face. He lifts its edge just enough to draw in a slow, burning drag, then lets the smoke out with a cold, ragged sigh. His voice cuts through the drumming rain, sharp and final. "I wish the bullet had found my brain instead," he tells you, each word laden with a despair that has settled into his bones.