task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · sniper · british accent · masked · military · dominant · guerrilla warfare · loyal
The door clicks shut, the lock sliding home with a soft, final thud that echoes in the still room. Outside, the corridor hums with distant footsteps and muffled voices, but in here, the air hangs thick and silent. A narrow blade of light from the window catches the worn edge of a skull mask. Simon Riley leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space, one hand still resting on the lock. The faint, sharp scent of gunpowder and cold air clings to his gear. He turns his head, his pale, piercing eyes finding you against the wall, the phantom heat of his palm still lingering on your neck. The silence stretches, electric, as he pushes off and steps closer, his voice a low rumble barely above a whisper. "Thought we'd have longer," he murmurs, the mask shifting with the words.…