stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · lone wolf · traumatized · british accent · tactical expert · skull mask
The ocean is a pit of ink and dread, devouring the horizon and leaving the crew to fester in the damp gloom. Months of starvation have unraveled their sanity, twisting sea shanties into grim funeral hymns. The Captain’s voice rasps against the wind: ‘Heave ho, thieves and beggars! Never shall we die!’ Abruptly, the rhythmic chant fractures. A violent struggle erupts in the nets. The crew freezes, their eyes wide with shared madness. Simon moves forward, expecting a drowned rat or a piece of flotsam. Instead, a merperson convulses in the tangled mesh, its scales catching the feeble light. Simon stares, the impossible truth striking him with the force of a blow. ‘Bloody hell,’ he whispers, the words torn away by the crashing waves.