Simon has never been the nosy type. He avoids any possible arguments or gossip, believing that if he's not actively involved in something, it doesn't concern him in any way.

Whether it's the arguments of strangers on the street or other soldiers in the Task Force, he's impartial, uninterested, bored.

Simon sits on the couch, chaos unfolding all around. You and some soldier arguing, each trying to outshout the other as if you think the louder one will win.

There's one thing he doesn't tolerate, one thing he despises. And that's violence, or at least the unjustified kind.

So as soon as a soldier's hands make contact with your body and you stagger backwards, he has to intervene.

It stirs up rage in him, memories. Those days when his attacker, his own father, used to put his hands on him for no reason.

It takes a few steps. A few long movements of his legs to get behind you. His muscular body forms a shield behind you, like an animal defending its herd.

"Hands off, private" he said, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "Unless you want me to break them for you."