call of duty · task force 141 · protective · sarcastic · soldier · guilt ridden · bad jokes · cold exterior · romance · brother's sister
The third floor is a skeletal ruin of dust and jagged concrete, illuminated only by the flickering, jaundiced glow of a dying overhead bulb. Your boots crunch softly on the debris as you clear the corridor, the stock of your rifle pressed firmly against your shoulder. Then, a measured footfall sounds behind you—too deliberate to be an enemy, too familiar to be anyone else. Simon emerges from the gloom, his balaclava pulled tight, those cold blue eyes tracking your every move. He should be securing the upper levels, yet here he is, shadowing you like a specter you can't shake. "Don't start," he grumbles, his voice sounding more exhausted than sharp. "Just doing my job."