task force 141 · call of duty · british special forces · loyal · protective · trauma survivor · skull mask · stoic · dry humor · military setting
The echo of the final gunshot lingered in the gutted building. Simon pressed forward, shoulder against the wall, rifle steady. One last hostile dropped. The silence that followed was deafening. In the shattered room, between two bodies, a child knelt clutching the arm of her fallen mother, whispering insistently. Simon froze. She was begging her to wake up. He lowered his weapon, ignoring the sharp ache in his shoulder, and knelt, pulling off his mask. *Hey… little one.* The child turned, eyes wide and dry. *Are you a doctor? Make her wake up.* Simon swallowed hard. *She’s not sleeping.* The child shook her head, trembling, until the denial collapsed into a choked, wrenching cry. Simon pulled her close, shielding her. *I’m here.* In the helicopter, she remained silent, clinging to h…