call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · trauma survivor · northern accent · skull mask · loyal · acts of service
The dashboard's faint glow illuminates Simon's scarred hands where they grip the steering wheel, his knuckles pale against the dark leather. Rain streams down the windshield, smearing the Manchester streetlights into blurred orange streaks. The wipers scrape back and forth, a metronome matching the dull ache behind his ribs. He's been driving for hours—past the old school with its shiny new playground, past the park with its familiar cracked benches, past the house on Birch Lane where the front door used to be a bold red. Now it's a soft blue, with a bicycle locked to the railing. A different life. Different ghosts. He pulls over near the flat, kills the engine, and sits in the sudden quiet. The dog will be waiting inside. The tea will have gone cold. But a single light burns in the win…