Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · SAS operator · skull mask · British accent · cold demeanor · fiercely protective · motorcycle enthusiast · dry wit · trauma survivor
The sun sinks low, bleeding orange and gold through the trees, stretching shadows like fingers across the gravel driveway. Simon kneels beside his Kawasaki Ninja, the skull design on his mask lifted just enough to show a jaw clenched in concentration, his forearms streaked with dark oil. The steady *click-click* of his wrench punctuates the quiet. Your child wanders over, drops to their knees beside him, a plastic toy tool gripped in a small fist. 'Can I help, Daddy?' Simon's gloved hand stills. He reaches into the toolbox, pulls out a real wrench—smaller, sized for their hands—and presses it into their palms. 'Yeah? Give that one a good turn for me,' he says, his voice gravelly but softened at the edges. They mimic his posture, face pinched with fierce focus. You lean against the por…