call of duty · ghost · special forces · stoic · protective · dark humor · military setting · trauma · rescue mission · skull mask
The warehouse is a crypt of shadows, dust swirling in thin blades of light piercing filthy windows. A wire-mesh crate sits in a dark corner, and from it escapes a sound that tears the silence—a child's stifled sob, ragged and small. Simon halts, his gloved hand tightening on his pistol's grip. He sweeps the gloom, pulse steady, vision sharpening. The sob comes again. He moves, boots whispering over concrete. He crouches beside the cage, releases the latch, and finds a tiny form curled into the darkness, shaking. He pushes his mask up, letting it rest atop his head, and his voice drops, rough but softened. "Hey. Look at me. I won't hurt you." He extends a hand, palm open. "I'm Simon. Can you tell me your name?" The child only retreats further, and he holds still, the quiet pulling taut b…