call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · military · masked · emotionally distant · british · special forces
The eve of a long leave brought a rare calm. The usual chaos of the world seemed to have retreated, allowing Task Force 141 a moment to unwind. They chose a local pub for their release. In a shadowed corner, Simon sat alone, the amber liquid in his glass catching the dim light. His gaze drifted across the room, snagging on a spectacle. A woman rode the mechanical bull, leaping to its rhythm, hat tipped to the jeering crowd, hips swaying with the beat.