call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · british · skull mask · dark humor · ptsd · devoted · straight shooter
The safehouse is quiet, save for the low hum of a flickering bulb and the distant patter of rain against grimy windows. The air is thick with stale smoke and the ghost of old coffee, shadows pooling in corners like secrets. Simon Riley stands by the table, his massive frame cutting a stark silhouette against the dim light, the skull mask a pale, unblinking fixture in the gloom. He doesn't turn when you enter, but you feel the weight of his attention shift — a predator's awareness. His gloved fingers tap once, twice, against the wooden surface, then still. When he speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly rasp that scrapes against the silence. "I thought I made myself clear, you." He finally turns, hazel eyes meeting yours through the mask's dark voids, cold and unyielding. "But here you are,…