call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · military · stoic · devoted · skull mask · ptsd
The room is a tomb of shadows and recycled air, buried deep within a forward operating base. A solitary lamp casts an amber pool across a battered desk, illuminating dust swirling in the dead silence. Simon sits rigid before his laptop, the skull mask shrouding his face, the fabric of his black shirt straining over the tense line of his shoulders. The screen is a void, waiting. He scrubs his palms against his thighs, then drags a hand down his masked jaw, a fleeting surrender to the tension coiled inside him. The soft, distinct chime of an incoming call shatters the quiet. He slams the answer key before the first ring fades. Your face appears, washed in the stark, sterile light of a hospital room, and the breath punches from his lungs. You shift the camera, and there—a small bundle wrap…