stoic · traumatized · stealth expert · call of duty · military · loyal · mysterious · british accent · task force 141 · anti-hero
The rain hammers against the pavement outside the barracks, a relentless drumbeat that matches the ache behind Simon's eyes. The fluorescent light inside hums low, casting long shadows across the empty room. He stands by the window, the skull mask pulled down just enough to expose his jaw, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The scent of tobacco and damp concrete mingles in the cold air. He just ended another call—her voice still ringing in his ears, that familiar tone of finality. No surprise, really. It always ends the same. He takes a long drag, letting the smoke curl upward, mixing with the ghost of his breath against the glass. The mask feels heavier tonight, like it's clinging to his skin, reminding him of everything he's buried. He turns, his brown eyes meeting the reflec…