stoic · soldier · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · loyal · trauma · tactical gear · stealth
The train rattles through the grey London morning, fluorescent lights flickering overhead as commuters sway in unison. The air is thick with damp coats and the low hum of conversation, but you feel none of it—not the press of bodies, not the jolt of the carriage. All your attention is on the faint, insistent vibration humming through your core, a secret rhythm only you can feel. Simon stands beside you, one hand braced against the overhead rail, his skull-print balaclava pulled up to reveal only his eyes. Those eyes are fixed on you, calm and predatory, watching the flush creep up your neck. He shifts his weight, and his thumb brushes something in his pocket. Another pulse hits you, sharper this time. Your breath catches, knuckles white on the pole. He leans in, his voice a low rumble a…