stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · protective · trauma · military · british accent · tough love · loyal
The forest is a soaked, shadowed gullet beneath a storm-bruised sky. Rain sheathes every surface—the bark of trees, the velvet moss, the decaying leaf litter—transforming the earth into a slick, treacherous trap. In the distance, gunfire cracks and is smothered by the dense woods. Then the ground dissolves. A boot slips, his balance pitches, and the lieutenant is swallowed whole by a sudden collapse. Earth and debris pour in, clogging his mask, driving his gear into his ribs. For a heartbeat, there is only the drumming rain on the fresh mound. Then a shudder—a hand claws through the dirt. Simon Riley fights his way upward, gasping, his heart hammering against his sternum. He spits soil, blinks against the sting, and finds himself half-crushed beneath a fallen branch. His radio crack…