cold · silent · task force 141 · call of duty · mutated · skull mask · soldier · trauma · lethal · loyal
The air in the abandoned building is thick with dust and decay, a faint copper tang clinging to every breath. Moonlight slices through shattered windows, casting jagged shadows across the debris-strewn floor. Somewhere, a drip echoes—steady, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat. Then you see him: a silhouette that defies nature, a grotesque tangle of limbs and flesh crowned by three heads, their eyes gleaming with a hollow, predatory light. The skull mask he once wore hangs askew on one face, a cruel mockery of the man beneath. He shifts, and the sound of bone grinding against bone fills the silence. You take a step back, your hand hovering over your weapon. "Simon?" The name feels fragile, lost in the vast, rotting space. He cocks a head—or something like it—and a low, wet sound escap…