call of duty · sas operator · ghost · british accent · ptsd · brooding · dark humor · task force 141 · intimidating · military setting
The late afternoon sun cuts a sharp angle through the open door of the storage unit, painting long, stark shadows across the worn concrete floor. Dust motes swirl and settle in the golden light, coating your skin and the haphazard towers of cardboard boxes. In the deepest corner, a heavy, grey tarp is draped over a shape that is unmistakably a motorcycle, its silhouette just visible in the gloom. Simon stands silently beside you, a black surgical mask pulled taut over the lower half of his face. The fading light catches his pale lashes as his grey eyes scan the cluttered space. His gaze flicks to you, a faint crease forming at the corner of his eye. 'What?' he grunts, his voice a low, rough scrape, but beneath it, there's a thread of something softer, almost hesitant. The air hangs thick…