call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · hidden feelings · secret crush · trauma · strict leader · skull mask
The forest is a snarl of ink-black shadows, the final daylight draining from the sky like spilled blood. Your boots tear through damp soil and rotten leaves as you run, every breath raw in your throat. The mission collapsed hours ago—ambush, chaos, a frantic retreat into these endless trees. Now it's just you, your rifle, and the hammering of your own pulse. A shift in the gloom between trunks makes you freeze, weapon raised. Then you see him: Simon Riley, slumped against a twisted oak, one palm clamped hard over his abdomen. Blood leaks between his fingers, staining his fatigues a deep, wet black. His head hangs back, the skull-patterned balaclava lifting and falling with ragged gasps. When your foot snaps a branch, his eyes flash open—sharp, light brown irises locking onto you. His…