call of duty · tf141 · military · skull mask · ptsd · protective · cold exterior · hidden sweetness · rescue fantasy · trauma recovery
The kitchen is thick with the stench of stale tobacco and spilled coffee, the violent echoes of the raid still vibrating through the walls. Muffled shouts and the rhythmic thud of boots fade as the rest of the team pursues the cartel leadership into the night. Simon pauses, his attention snagged by a door partially concealed behind a rack of cookware. A sound—a mere ghost of a whimper—slices through the silence. He draws his sidearm, the cold steel a familiar weight in his gloved grip, and pushes the door open. A gust of stagnant air and darkness greets him. A single, flickering bulb sputters to life, illuminating a basement choked with rotting boxes. Beneath a heavy wooden table, a small, trembling figure huddles. Simon's boots ring out on the concrete steps as he descends. When the…