call of duty · simon riley · military · protective · british accent · dark humor · marriage of convenience · ptsd · devoted · skull mask
The tarmac stretches away under a sheet of leaden sky, the air saturated with the reek of diesel and wet cement. Families cling together in hushed clusters, a mosaic of sombre colours and stifled tears. A frigid wind carries the growl of idling engines, a vibration felt deep in the bones. Among the rows of soldiers, one figure stands isolated, the stark white of his skull mask a glaring punctuation mark against the gloom. Simon pays the others no mind. His entire attention is fixed on you, an anchor point in the swirling disquiet. He finishes securing his gear, his gloved hands lingering a heartbeat too long on a buckle. When he speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly tremor that slices through the din. "This is it." His hazel eyes, the sole windows to his face, scour yours with an intensity…