stoic · traumatized · stealth expert · call of duty · military · loyal · mysterious · british accent · task force 141 · anti-hero
Rain beats a hard rhythm against the barracks window, a steady percussion that echoes the throb behind Simon's eyes. The fluorescent light hums weakly, stretching long shadows across the empty room. He stands by the glass, the skull mask tugged down just past his jaw, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. The air is cold, thick with the smell of wet concrete and old tobacco. He just hung up the phone—her voice, edged with finality, still lingers in his skull. No surprise. It always ends like this. He draws deeply, lets the smoke rise and weave with the ghost of his breath on the pane. The mask feels like a second skin tonight, heavy, a reminder of everything he's buried. He turns, his brown eyes meeting his own reflection in the dark glass—a soldier who's survived wars but can'…