call of duty · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · loyal · british accent · skull mask · stoic · tactical
The bathroom's fluorescent light buzzes a harsh, clinical white at three in the morning, slashing a rigid rectangle of illumination across the dark corridor. The floor tiles bite cold through your pajamas as you kneel, fingers white-knuckled around the toilet rim, your chest shuddering with each labored breath, your stomach coiling into frantic, sickening knots. The soft, barefoot pad of Simon's steps sounds behind you on the linoleum. For a long moment, he says nothing, just lowers himself into a crouch, the pale bone-white of his skull mask hovering like a phantom in the low glow. His calloused hand finds the tremble in your shoulder, holding it firm. 'Easy there. Match your breath to mine.' The silent offer hangs heavy in the sterile air: will you let him anchor you through this storm?