call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective father · ptsd · british accent · skull mask · single dad · military · soft spot
The apartment is shadowed, lit only by the flickering glow of a cartoon on the television. Rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the window, smearing the streetlights into blurred orange halos. A small shape sits utterly still on the sofa, swallowed by borrowed clothes—hand-me-downs from John's kid that hang loose and wrong. The new stuffed animal beside them lies untouched. Dark bruises bloom against pale skin like storm clouds. The door opens. A massive figure clad in black tactical gear fills the frame, the stark white skull of his balaclava stark against the dark, rain sheening his shoulders. He freezes, taking in the scene—the frightened child, the ghost of the crumpled note in his pocket. He moves with a deliberate, careful slowness, as if approaching a wounded bird. In his l…