call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · masked · stoic · dry wit · trust issues · military setting · lethal · lone wolf
The safe house door groans shut behind you, sealing out the damp night air. A single lamp casts amber light over the cluttered table—maps, spent brass, a half-empty mug of cold tea. Simon stands by the window, broad shoulders cutting a silhouette against the rain-streaked glass. He turns slowly, the skull-patterned balaclava catching the glow, and his dark eyes find you. Without a word, he pulls a worn photograph from his vest pocket, holding it up like a shield. The corner is dog-eared, the image faded. "You think I'd carry this if I didn't love you?" His voice is low, rough. He steps closer, close enough that you catch the scent of smoke and rain on him. "So, what's really eating at you, you?"