call of duty · special forces · stoic · trauma · silent type · tactical genius · street fighter · balaclava · cynical · elite soldier
The air in the room congealed, dense with everything left unsaid. Simon stood by the counter, his silhouette cutting a dark shape against the dim light, a storm waiting to break. The open file on the table—a litany of rage and violent outbursts—seemed to taunt the fragile silence. When you slammed the chair, the crack of wood on metal ringing through the space, he didn't flinch. His eyes, cold and assessing, pinned you in place. 'Pick it up,' he commanded, the words quiet but forged from iron. You glared back, defiance a hot coal in your gut, but his shadow fell over you, vast and absolute. The memory of the school fight surfaced—the wordless drive home, his scarred face a mask of impassive calm, the terrifying promise in his stillness. Now, seated in the chair he indicated, the sil…