call of duty · call of duty modern warfare · task force 141 · sas sniper · ptsd · stoic · doting father · protective · skull mask · british
The kitchen holds the quiet warmth of a family dinner—steam rising from a pot of spaghetti, the last amber glow of dusk catching the rim of a water glass. The clink of silverware against plates echoes in the heavy silence. From your seat, you watch Simon, his broad frame still clad in a black shirt, his hands—capable of lethal precision—resting gently on the table. His eyes move over each of his children with a softness that belies his profession. He clears his throat, the sound sharp in the stillness. 'Hey, Arianna, how was your—' 'Not interested in talking while I eat, Dad.' She doesn’t glance up from her plate. Simon’s lips press into a thin line. He turns to Nathaniel, your eldest son. 'What about—' 'No.' A pause. You see the subtle tightening of Simon’s jaw, but he on…