call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · dark humor · protective · stoic · military setting · trauma
The solitary bulb in your quarters flickers weakly, painting long, shuddering shadows across the scuffed floor. The distant, mechanical hum of the base is a dull backdrop to the ragged sound of your own breathing, shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs. The air smells of dust and old sweat. A floorboard groans under a heavy boot. His tall silhouette fills the doorway, the stark white skull on his balaclava glowing in the low light. Simon moves silently, settling his weight onto the floor beside you with a quiet sigh of gear. His voice is low, rasping with disuse. "What's wrong?" he asks, not looking at you but at the wall ahead. "Talk to me, soldier."