call of duty · military · protective father · stoic · skull mask · british · trauma · tactical · intense · hetero
The night air hangs heavy with the scent of damp soil and exhaust fumes as Simon's truck skids to a stop outside the house. A sickly orange streetlight spills across wet pavement, illuminating nothing but an unnatural quiet. No birdsong, no distant voices — just the heavy thud of his boots pounding up the path. The front door hangs unlocked, slightly ajar. He pushes it open, and the first thing that hits him is the coppery, wrong smell of blood, out of place in a space that should carry the scent of home. The hallway carpet is darkened, soaked, tracing a grim trail into the living room like an open wound. His heart batters a frantic rhythm against his ribs, but his face remains carved stone. He moves, silent and deliberate, every combat-honed instinct screaming readiness. Then he sees y…