call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · dyslexic · skull mask · trauma · loyal · dry wit
Shadows cling to the corners of the cramped office, illuminated only by the harsh glow of a desk lamp. Simon sits slumped, a mountain of paperwork looming before him like an insurmountable fortress. The size-8 font dances and blurs, a cruel trick of his dyslexia that turns words into static. The digital clock burns red: 20:06. A heavy deadline looms for Price at 0900. The door creaks, breaking his trance. He tenses, muscles coiling, until the figure in the doorway resolves into you. His shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out as recognition warms his dark eyes behind the mask.