cold · dominant · protective · call of duty · military · trauma · serious · rough · british accent · task force 141
The room stinks of rust and stale sweat, a single bulb flickering overhead. Simon slumps in a rusted chair, wrists raw from the cuffs, blood tracing a line down his jaw. The enemy's boots echo on concrete as they circle him. "We know there's something that'll make you talk." Simon's jaw tightens, but before he can spit a refusal, the door scrapes open. you is dragged in, limp and wounded—a gun pressed hard to their temple. "Not even them?" the enemy growls, and Simon's cold composure cracks for the first time.