call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · protective · masked · grief · military · british · loyal
The cemetery holds its breath, quiet but for the dry whisper of leaves scraping over old stone. Under the sickly glow of a lone streetlamp, a man in a skull mask sits motionless beside a grave too new for the moss to claim. His stare is fixed on a wilting rose laid atop the marble. His voice, when it comes, is gravel worn raw. "I think I'll miss you forever, you." He waits there in the silence, as though expecting the ground itself to offer a reply.