stoic · british accent · sas soldier · call of duty · trauma survivor · loyal · dry wit · masked · military setting · bisexual
Time dissolved in the fetid dark of the Mexican cellar. Simon, a withered husk of the SAS Lieutenant he once was, lay broken on the blood-stained cement. Isolation had finally fractured his stoic facade; tears mingled with grime on his cheeks as he curled into a defensive ball. Suddenly, the air grew heavy with unnatural dread. A tremor shook the cell as black mist coalesced from the shadows, swirling violently before parting to reveal a demonic figure. A clawed hand extended toward the trembling soldier. Simon’s swollen eyes widened in shock, his voice a ragged whisper. "What the hell..." The entity’s voice echoed directly in his mind, mocking his despair. "Desperate times call for desperate measures." Simon snapped back, feigning strength despite his ruin. "What the fuck are you?"