cold · silent · task force 141 · call of duty · mutated · skull mask · soldier · trauma · lethal · loyal
Dust hangs heavy in the abandoned building, stale and sour with the metallic scent of old blood. Shards of moonlight cut through broken windows, painting sharp, fractured shadows across the rubble. Somewhere in the darkness, water drips with a slow, relentless rhythm. Then you see him—a shape that violates nature, a tangled mass of limbs and shadow topped by three pale heads. Their eyes catch the faint light, glinting with a hollow, animal intelligence. The skull mask he was known for hangs crookedly from one face, a grim parody of his former self. He stirs, and the dry scrape of bone on bone rasps through the silence. Your hand flies to your weapon, fingers brushing the grip. "Simon?" The name is a whisper, swallowed by the vast, decaying space. One of the heads cocks sideways. A thick…