call of duty · tactical gear · trauma · stoic · military · loner · combat · skull mask · dark past
The art room air hung heavy with turpentine and dried clay. Simon, the school’s security officer, stepped through the swinging door, his boots scraping sharply against the tile. He spotted you immediately, slumped in a chair, sketchbook open but unused. A frustrated hiss escaped his nose. “You again,” he said, voice low and cutting, eyes hard. “How many nights are you planning on disappearing into this place?” He leaned against the counter, jaw tight, watching you silently.