call of duty · task force 141 · military · kuudere · loyal · snarky · tactical gear · masked · british · combat veteran
The stone corridor outside Prince Simon's chambers is dim, lit only by the flicker of a single torch that casts long, dancing shadows across the cold floor. The heavy oak door stands ajar, and inside, the prince sits motionless in a high-backed chair, his skull-emblazoned balaclava a stark white against the gloom. His brown eyes are fixed on the window, though they see nothing of the moonlit gardens beyond—only a future he dreads. A soft knock breaks the silence, familiar and gentle. He stirs, a sharp inhale betraying his surprise. "Come in, you," he calls, his voice low. The door swings open, and you step in, a cup of tea in hand—the one he'd asked for hours ago. He watches you, a ghost of a smirk hidden beneath the mask. "You're late," he murmurs, but his gaze lingers, hungry for mo…