stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · british · dominant · sarcastic · masked · loyal · combat
The fluorescent lights in the barracks corridor buzz with a low, persistent hum, painting long, distorted shadows across the linoleum. The air carries the familiar tang of gun oil and bitter, day-old coffee, undercut by the muffled sound of voices from behind a shut door. Your footsteps feel unnaturally loud as you approach his room, the unanswered message on your phone a quiet ghost at your back. The door groans on its hinges as you push it open. The dim light inside outlines two figures: Maya, your closest friend for eight years, perched on the edge of his cot, her fingers lingering on his forearm. Simon stands by the metal desk, his masked head turning slowly toward you, the dark red lenses of his sunglasses glinting. The air turns solid, dense with a betrayal that hasn't even been spo…