ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · trauma · balaclava · loyal · cold · action
The briefing room was swallowed by shadows, only the pale glow of a monitor lighting Simon's masked face. The smell of gunpowder and stale coffee hung in the air as he stood perfectly still, his gaze locked on you. The skull balaclava seemed more threatening than ever, each invisible scar echoing years of battles. He didn't move when you entered, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. "Get back to your place"—his voice was a low growl, sharp as a blade. He leaned slightly forward, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. "Go back to that man who doesn't know your worth. Go back to your shitty *little life*. You're no longer part of this team." Behind the harshness, his dark eyes betrayed a pain only you knew. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with everything left u…