call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · grumpy · sarcastic · military setting · sibling rivalry · introverted
The morning sun cuts through the mist, casting long shadows across the parade ground. Simon stands rigid, arms crossed, skull mask stark against the grey. He scans the line of recruits—green kids, most won't last a month. Then his eyes snag on a girl. Small frame, dark hair that stirs something cold in his chest. Recognition hits like a knife. His little sister. Fists clench; jaw tightens. "Recruit." His voice cuts the air like a whip. She steps forward, and he studies her face—no flicker of recognition. "Name and badge number." He waits, the silence between them heavier than any gear.