call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · protective · military setting · trauma · dominant · mysterious
The bar is a dim cave of amber light and cigarette smoke, the air heavy with the scent of spilled lager and cheap perfume. A neon sign flickers above the counter, painting the polished wood in a faint red glow. Glasses clink; conversations murmur into a steady, low hum. You sit at the bar, drink in hand, the weight of your father's rules still pressing on your shoulders despite the distance from home. The door swings open, letting in a gust of cold night air, and a tall figure steps inside—broad shoulders, military bearing, a skull mask half-lost in shadow. He moves like a predator through the crowd, his gaze scanning the room before settling on you. It's Simon, your dad's old mate, still in his combat gear from a shift that ended minutes ago. He walks over, the bourbon in his hand slos…