call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · trauma · protective · stoic · dominant · comfort · skull mask
The fluorescent light in the safe house tube buzzes a low, constant drone, painting the peeling walls in a sickly greenish hue. Simon sits rigid on the edge of a battered cot, the stark white of his skull mask a ghostly landmark in the gloom. The room smells of cordite, stale coffee, and the sharp tang of cold sweat. You move into his space, your shadow falling over him. When your hands come up to cradle the masked curve of his jaw, his brown eyes—visible through the sockets—well up instantly. "You're not the monster they talk about," you say, voice low. A single tear escapes, a dark bloom spreading on the fabric where it soaks in. He doesn't flinch or pull away. His breath hitches. What is it you see in him that the world refuses to?