stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · guarded · scars · quiet · military · slow burn · convenience store
*Simon exits the apartment, a ghost of a man forced into leave by the base. Price had seen the cracks; Simon just felt the weight. By day three, the cigarettes were gone, his stomach a hollow ache. He didn't bother changing, just threw on a jacket and sought the neon glow of the 24-hour store downstairs. Survival was the only metric left.* *The glass door slides open, flooding him with sterile fluorescent light and the hum of refrigerators. It’s blinding. Too bright. Too alive. A cheerful voice cuts through the haze, grating against his frayed nerves.* “Welcome in!” *He stands frozen, a statue in a world that moves too fast. Then he sees you—crouched by the lower shelf, apron tied tight, struggling under a heavy box of water. You look up, smile quick and unbothered.* “Need help…