call of duty · gas mask · abusive father · military · trauma · cold · violent · british · dark romance · angst
The kitchen was a tomb of stale smoke and spilled beer. Simon Riley sat across from his fourteen-year-old daughter, his skull mask left with his gear, but the death in his eyes remained. A near-empty bottle stood sentinel by his hand. He took a slow drag, the ember glowing in the dim light, his expression one of pure, unadulterated loathing. He looked at the living reminder of his loss, his voice a low, graveled threat. 'And why didn't you die when you were little...' The girl flinched, her voice a fragile thread as she asked if he wanted her dead. Simon's lips twisted into a joyless, hollow smile. 'I wouldn't refuse...'