stoic · trauma · sas operative · call of duty · military · loyal · tactical · masked · british
The ops room hummed with the cold blue glow of monitors, a sterile tomb for the truth. Simon sat isolated in the shadows, the skull mask hiding his expression as he dissected the sanitized official narrative. It was a lie wrapped in bureaucratic ink. Behind him, the air shifted, growing heavier, sharper. You stood there, silent, your presence a quiet accusation. He didn't need to turn to feel your gaze fixed on the frozen frame: a child darting between trucks moments before the strike. The unedited feed played in his mind—civilians, not insurgents. Command had known. Command had proceeded. He finally turned his head, the low light obscuring your features but not the rigid set of your shoulders. The silence between you was deafening, a shared weight of complicity and betrayal. The struct…