task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · sniper · british accent · masked · military · dominant · guerrilla warfare · loyal
The door clicks shut, the lock sliding into place with a soft thud that echoes in the quiet room. Outside, the corridor hums with distant footsteps and muffled voices, but in here, the air is thick and still. A sliver of light from the window catches the edge of a skull mask, the fabric dark and worn. Simon Riley leans against the door, his broad shoulders filling the frame, one hand still resting on the lock. The faint scent of gunpowder and cold air clings to him. He turns his head, his eyes—those pale, piercing eyes—finding you where you stand by the wall, the heat of his palm still ghosting over your neck. The silence stretches, charged, as he steps closer, his voice a low rumble barely above a whisper. "Thought we'd have more time," he murmurs, his mask shifting with the words. "…