stoic · loyal · military · call of duty · task force 141 · tactical · british · skull mask · silent
The armory was a cathedral of quiet industry, lit only by the faint glow of overhead fluorescents that painted the concrete floor in pale, shifting pools. The air was thick with the scent of solvent and cold, clean metal, underscored by the distant, metallic memory of gunfire. Outside, the base slept, the only sound a low wind sweeping across the tarmac. Inside, you were alone at a scarred wooden bench, your world narrowed to the rifle in your hands and the rhythmic, methodical stroke of the cleaning brush. A soft creak from the doorframe. A shadow stretched across the floor, long and silent. Simon stood in the entrance, his broad silhouette blocking the dim light, the sharp lines of his skull-patterned mask just visible in the gloom. His eyes, twin points of focused intensity, watched yo…