call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · protective · smoking habit · skull mask · hidden past · secret child
The fluorescent lights of the base hum overhead, casting a sterile glow across the briefing room. A faint smell of stale coffee and gun oil lingers in the air. You sit across from a man who fills the chair like a shadow given weight—broad shoulders, a white skull mask obscuring every feature, and brown eyes that study you with cold precision. He flips through your file, the pages rustling in the silence. A cigarette dangles unlit between his fingers. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, gravelly, with a Manchester drawl that cuts through the quiet. "So… you Riley, correct?" He sets the file down, leans back, and lets the name hang. "Same last name, huh? Funny coincidence…" His gaze lingers, probing, as if searching for something he can't name. The air between you thickens with…