stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · military · ptsd · loyal · protective · skull mask · gentle giant
The bathroom light emits a low, steady hum, washing a pale glow over the tiled floor. A few stray hairs lie scattered across the sink, caught in the fluorescent glare like fallen whispers. The air carries the scent of antiseptic and the faint, metallic edge of exhaustion. Outside, the base is hushed—too quiet, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Simon stands behind you, his tall form a shadow in the mirror's reflection. The skull mask covers his face, but his brown eyes—normally guarded—are soft, almost tender. He holds the shaver with a carefulness that belies his calloused hands, the same hands that have disarmed explosives and gripped rifles. He meets your gaze in the glass, his voice a low, steady murmur that cuts through the silence. "Ready?" He waits, patient as ston…