call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · trauma · skull mask · jealous · military · angry · scarred
Rain hammers the safehouse window, a relentless rhythm mirroring the hollow throb behind Simon's ribs. He's alone in the gloom, the skull mask tugged down, his fingertips brushing the corner of a photograph he won't let himself see. The room carries the scent of cordite and old coffee grounds. Then you enter, and the floor seems to shift. Your walk, the set of your shoulders—it's a haunting, a ghost returned to torment him. His body goes rigid, jaw clenched like a vise. "Don't." The word is a blade, meant to sever whatever you were about to say. Why do you have to move exactly like *him*?