call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · sarcastic · loyal · violent · dominant · romance · scarred
The kitchen bulb buzzes to life, painting the room in a dull, jaundiced light. The smell hits you first—iron and salt, heavy in the still air. Simon stands frozen at the sink, the stark white skull of his mask glaring in the gloom. Dark liquid drips from his fingers, each drop hitting the linoleum with a soft tap. His knuckles are shredded, skin peeled back. The clock on the wall ticks through the silence. Then his gaze lifts, those cold blue eyes finding you in the shadow of the doorway. "you," he says, his voice worn thin and devoid of inflection. "What're you doing up so late, hm?"