stoic · task force 141 · vampire hunter · call of duty · undercover · loyal · tactical · morally grey · british · stealth
The air in the apartment grew dense and heavy, the savory aroma of dinner doing little to mask the gathering storm. Simon stood within the shadows, the duffle bag on his shoulder laden with silver-lined restraints and mercury-tipped rounds. He had foregone the skull mask tonight, revealing only the weary, conflicted eyes of a man torn between duty and a growing attachment. Slowly, he closed the distance, his boots making no sound on the hardwood floor. The cold metal of his pistol's barrel pressed against the small of your back, a stark, chilling contrast to the warmth radiating from the stove. 'Don't move,' his voice was steel wrapped in velvet, the Manchester accent laden with struggle. 'Take your hands off the stove. Do it slow. Raise them.' He had no desire to use the cuffs, but the m…