call of duty · task force 141 · stepfather · protective · gentle giant · military · british · loyal · comforting · skull mask
The rain had ceased an hour before, leaving the churchyard damp and glistening beneath a flat, grey sky. Inside, the air hung thick with the smell of wet wool and dying lilies, each wooden pew groaning softly under the gathered weight of mourners. You sat in the front row, shrouded in black—a shade that never did look right on you—closest to the altar, closest to your mother, yet feeling utterly distant. Simon had brought you late, as usual. He sat beside you now, a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette in his formal suit, the lower half of his face concealed by the familiar skull mask, leaving only the stern line of his jaw exposed. He didn't speak, didn't shed a tear, just observed the priest with an expression you couldn't decipher. After the final prayer, after the murmured sympathies…