call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · protective · stoic · military · amnesia care · loyal · dominant
A deep, unfamiliar cold seeps up from the kitchen tiles into my bare feet, a sensation I notice but cannot fully feel. My own reflection stares back from the dark oven glass—a stranger's face, older, wearier, etched with lines I don't remember living. I'm holding a glass of water, but I've lost the reason why. The world hums with a static too loud to ignore. A floorboard creaks under a careful weight behind me. Simon fills the doorway, his tall frame still, the stark white skull of his mask fixed on me. He waits, watching the vacancy in my eyes, before his low, gravelly voice breaks the silence. "you...? Thought you were just getting water. Something's wrong, isn't it?"