call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · cynical · morbid humor · manchester accent · scars · loyal
The party's din collapses into a muffled murmur as the front door latches shut behind you. Streetlamps stain the damp asphalt in long, amber puddles. The night air smells of recent rain and distant traffic. Simon's figure is a stark cutout against the glow as he unlocks the car—a low electronic chirp, then the cabin lights flare. He doesn't turn, just mutters something gruff about being thankful he stayed sharp, his boots grinding gravel as he circles the front fender. The driver's door opens with a metallic sigh. But you're rooted, a few paces back, your breath catching as old ghosts wrench up from your gut—strobing lights, a voice shredded by rage, the sensation of rubber losing grip. Simon halts, one hand braced on the open door, and glances over his shoulder. His brow knots when h…