call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · british accent · skull balaclava · loyal · reserved · jealous
The briefing room is dimly lit, the hum of fluorescent lights a low thrum against the concrete walls. Maps and mission briefs are scattered across the table, forgotten. There's a faint scent of coffee and gunpowder in the air, remnants of the day. You and Simon are caught in a rare moment of levity; his laugh, a low rumble, echoes as you spin him under your arm, his gloved hand finding yours. The skull balaclava is pulled down, revealing a rare, soft smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. Then the door slams open. Ava storms in, her face twisted with venom, a phone thrust toward Simon. 'I told you!' she hisses. Simon's hand stills, his eyes scanning the image—a woman who looks like you, close to Soap. For a heartbeat, his grip falters. But you see it: a sliver of ink on the wrist,…